My Other Half
by KeruKeru
Summary: Being in love with your best friend is supposed to be cliche and beautiful and everyone is supposed to get a happy ending. Those cheesy romantic comedies don't tell you how much it actually sucks when they don't or can't love you back. And no amount of cynicism or sarcasm is going to change that. Here's hoping for the best. Mainly Style with mentions of Creek and Bunny
1. Disregarding Myself

**KeruKeru: So this makes three fics I'm writing for simultaneously. Honestly, this one will most likely be my priority as I've had more fun with these characters already. As well, I like to think Kyle grew up to be like me in real life: constantly cynical and sarcastic, but second-guessing choices he makes even if the outcome is something he wants. So the added benefit of seeing myself in the story helps with my desire to write. I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!**

* * *

1\. Disregarding Myself

I hate Stan Marsh.

That's a load of shit. I'm hopelessly, fucking in love with Stan Marsh. But I can still hate him. Granted, it's more of the situation I'm sour towards than at him. Well, it was his idea, so it's partially directed his way. Maybe I hate myself a little bit too. Mostly for agreeing.

Yes, before everything came about, all I wanted was to be closer to Stan, but now that I got my wish and in this way. It's just not fucking worth it. I'm a sucker for him and that's why I stay. That's why I let this continue because we can't just go back to being super best friends or even just friends. I won't let us, even if all I want is to erase our current predicament off the face of history and pretend it never even began.

Time doesn't work like that. So until it does, I'm stuck. But at least I'm stuck with him.

"Fuck, Kyle! Watch the teeth." His grunt of pain reminds me where I am. Where _we_ are. I just give him an apologetic puppy dog look and it seems to suffice.

I'm on my knees on his floor. He's sitting on his bed, pants around his ankles. My mouth is closed, bobbing over his erection. He cums soon after, no warning, as usual. I've learned the signs though. First his breath hitches, then he bites his lip and exhales as he unloads.

My own erection throbs with need in its denim prison, but I know it won't get assistance. It never does. He never really returns the favor. He jerked me off once, but it didn't really get me off because he's terrible at it. But I can't be bitter about that, not when there are plenty of other factors I _need_ to be bitter about. I'm his booty call, er… mouth call? I'm the one he comes to (no pun intended) when Wendy won't put out. And the girl must be evil, too, because most of the time he's so fucking riled up he doesn't last too long. This time was different, it was at least a good five minutes.

Stan had recently acquired a taste for fruit, pineapple mainly. Okay, I made him acquire a taste for it because I was tired of him tasting as bitter as I feel. I don't need fucking reminders of it when I'm doing what it is that makes me feel that way.

He stands to redo his jeans while I find an old shirt or something to wipe the edges of my mouth with. I may be a cynical, self-hating bastard, but at least he tastes good thanks to me. "You wanna watch a movie or something?" He offers from beside the TV, flipping on his Xbox One without even waiting for me to reply. It always astounds me how he's able to pretend everything is normal between us.

"Sure, but none of that romantic-comedy bullshit you always insist on. That's for you and Wendy." The joke is at my expense, more so than his or hers. Though, he wouldn't know that by how well I swallow my feelings (fucking puns). I know how terrible this is. I'm basically Stan's mistress… or whatever the male version of a mistress is. We're cheating. We have been for months. But I can't stop myself. It means so much in a sick and twisted kind of way that I'm the one he wants to suck him off.

Dammit, I know, that sounds fucking weird, but shut up. If this is what it takes for me to be close to him, then fine, I'll do it. Like I said, it's not like we can just go back to before. I've seen his dick, had him in my mouth, my hands, and gotten him off every way to Sunday. He's even seen and touched mine, even if it was awful. You can't go back to being super best friends after that. Even if everyone else still thinks that's all we are.

Fuck, Wendy thinks that's all we are too. She's a smart girl, just as, if not more so than me. She probably finds it weird that whenever she stops Stan from going further that he suddenly needs to go to my house or meet me or something. If she knows, though, she doesn't mention it or even act like she does. She has Stan on a bit of a tighter leash at times, but I don't think he notices. I notice. She would be the one to bounce back quickly if everything went to shit. She might be sad or whatever, but as smart as she is, she's every bit as tough. Hell, she beat the shit out of Cartman just because he made fun of breast cancer. And that was when we were eleven, it's only grown more so over the years. Maybe that's part of the reason I let this go on.

I come back to my senses as robots are destroying the lounge area of Tony Stark's tower, just after a swanky party. He chose _The Avengers: Age of Ultron_. It's one of my favorites of the new movie series. At some point I must have rearranged my body because I now have my back against the foot of his bed with my legs tucked up into my chest. I think he's on the bed, but I'm not really sure.

"You okay, dude?" I think his Kyle's-in-his-own-head sense is going off, it's the only time he asks me that.

As always, I lie. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just watching the move." I don't turn around to acknowledge him. I can't pay attention to the movie because my cheater's guilt is in full throttle today. Why did I ever have to tell him I'm gay? Correction: why did he ever force me to tell him? It's not even a big deal, but he wouldn't let it go until I finally just broke down and told him. He has that effect on me. I just want to tell him everything and I think he knows it. If he doesn't know it, then I know how obvious I make it and that just proves how oblivious he is.

Fucking Kenny knows about my goddamn crush (undying love) for Stanley Marsh. Only because Kenny is a nosy bastard who likes to go through my phone and over-analyze every emoji I've ever sent to Stan. So I'm flirtier than any normal friend should be when I'm texting Stan, but he never complains, sometimes he plays along. I think he's just used to it. Shit like that is what made our friendship what it is. Adultery aside.

I phase back into the movie. Tony Stark is mid-fight with a mind-warped Hulk. Both are tearing apart the metropolitan area of a city in order to take the other one down. This may be the first time I'll ever not pay attention to this movie. I love _The Avengers_. Stan and I both do. It's one of the tons of interests we share. In recent years we've diverged a bit in our interests. Stan went out for football and currently represents the school. I tried to go out for basketball and swimming, but I'm not coordinated enough for one and I hate being almost naked in front of anyone because I have such a pale complexion. I've considered trying out for the baseball team though.

I have a great metabolism so I've stayed relatively thin. Not like Kenny, he's too thin because his parents spend most of their money on alcohol and he's so wrapped up in caring for his younger sister that quite often he has little in the way of feeding himself. Bastard is too prideful to let us help him too. That's not my point though. The point is that I don't think it would've helped me much even if I had stayed with one. Football helped Stan, though. It helped him a lot.

His body is one of the many reasons this arrangement makes no sense. He's toned. He's nowhere near a professional athlete, but you can tell he works hard at keeping himself trim. He's still carrying around a little fluff, but I think it's cute. That aside, I don't see why Wendy won't do anything with him more than kissing or rubbing him through his jeans. I may be bias, but I'd hit that. Hell, I have basically hit it. Though I never count what we do because it's just blow jobs and handies for him.

Oh look, we've come full circle.

Am I too wrapped up in this? Should I just stop worrying about it? I can't stop myself. Stan says 'jump' and I say 'on what'. It was never this way before we turned fifteen. When he was finally noticing Wendy as a girl, I was busy noticing him as a guy. We had the same gym class all the time, most of our classes are the same aside from subjects like math. I would sneak peeks. Part of me was terrified he'd find me staring at him and hate me, but he never did. Or least I thought he didn't. When he finally confronted me about my sexuality, it came up. He wasn't pissed, much to my relief. He actually told me he was flattered because 'Wendy didn't look at him that way'. Of course she didn't, I don't think she ever has.

Deep down, I think Wendy is more afraid to lose Stan than she lets on. She could easily find someone better suited for herself, someone like Token. He's rich, intelligent, and rich. Everything girls like. For some reason though, she keeps him around, teasing him with just enough that he wants to stay with her even if it means I have to be the one to take the brunt of it.

I may sound resentful. I'm not. Wendy's actually one of my best friends outside of Stan and Kenny. She's the only one of us that actually appreciates intelligent stuff like literature and politics. She may get a bit over-the-top for my liking, but it's mainly because she cares so much. Hence, the aforementioned pounding of Eric Cartman.

God, even _that_ asshole changed. He stayed tubby, but he grew up. His licentious remarks and personality have only become worse. The constant 'Jew' comments are to the point where Stan has to hold me back from beating the living shit out of him. It's usually remedied by Stan telling me 'it's not worth it' and I can breathe back my anger. Cartman's also evolved an understanding of the Constitution and breaks into the 'First Amendment' to protect what he says as if free speech means he's absolved of all consequences of his speech therein.

Shit, where was I at? In terms of the movie, the heroes were chasing Ultron through the streets of Seoul, South Korea. I'm suddenly aware of a shuffling next to me. It's Stan. He moved down beside me at some point during my battle with my inner demons. He's pretty close too.

He turns and our eyes meet, I realize I've been staring at him. He lifts an eyebrow in question. "You sure you're alright, you've been kinda dazed since you came over." That's an understatement.

I blink, but nod unconvincingly, turning back to the screen. "Yeah, I'm fine." No I'm not. I haven't been for a while. Ever since I realized I loved him as so much more than just my super best friend.

I'm sure he doesn't believe me, but he knows not push so his attention returns to the movie. I find myself drawn to him. Tentatively, I let my head fall to his shoulder to rest. It's not that we've never been this close. We've shared a bed multiple times over and sometimes we just lay on each other during movies or games or whatever. I don't know why I'm being such a pussy but I'm against his shoulder.

He moves, only to readjust for my comfort and then we're settled again. Scarlett Johansson is riding her motorcycle through Seoul, red hair whipping through the breeze. "I kinda miss your Jew-fro." Stan comments with an added chuckle. He's the only one allowed to make Jew jokes because we both know he doesn't mean them.

"Really? It's so much more manageable this way." Sure, it takes a decent amount of gel and time to keep my short curls under control, but I can't go back to the 'fro' days. There was so much hair. My old unshaka could barely keep it hidden half the time. I kept the hat but not the hair.

Stan just snickers at me. "You looked hilarious whenever it came out." I elbow him which only intensifies his chuckling.

"Asshole." I can't be mad at him though. I can never be mad at him. We're both cynical assholes, even if _he_ is the one who used to think everything was shit. Our cynicism is just another shared quality between us.

I feel his arm creep over my hip on the opposite side. He has his arm around me. It's normal, but unexpected. Maybe me sucking him off really _is_ the next logical step in our friendship. It doesn't feel that way, but we're so close that we do pretty gay shit anyway. So, he could be right. Regardless, his hand makes me blush, which is incredibly obvious on my ghostly skin. He doesn't mention it if he notices which would only make it that much worse.

Cuddling with Stan is great, even if he won't admit we're cuddling. It's one of the few times I can pretend we're an actual couple who do normal couple things like geek out over _The Avengers_ or murder each other in _Halo_ and _Call of Duty_. A couple who can kiss and hold hands and just be together. But at the same time, I know that's not in the cards for us. It never has been and never will be. So for the time, I'm content with this even if I hate it because it means I can be with him and we can still be friends.

With that thought, I slip into a nap. My dreams are fleeting and hard to put together because it's only a short while. Stan is in them as usual. Most of my dreams revolve around superheroes and the Halloween we all dressed up as _The Avengers_. Stan couldn't come out with us because his dad lost his mind and bought a Blockbuster and Stan was stuck helping. The dream about that time is more revolved around us as twelve year olds, kissing in our costumes. It's innocent because outside of adultery, I'm a fucking wimp when it comes to sex stuff. I hate getting naked. I hate being even semi-naked for people to see because I just turn fucking red. That one time Stan tried returning the favor was probably made worse by my reluctance to actually let him pull my pants all the way down.

As I dream of us kissing, Stan's crotch starts vibrating against my leg. What the fuck? Now it's playing a song. It sounds a lot like my phone's ringtone. This revelation makes my eyes open slowly, taking in the scene around me. Stan's Xbox is still on, but the movie has reverted to its menu screen. My phone is ringing in my pocket. That's why his crotch vibrated. I move my head groggily to find his own is rested against mine. His arm is still around my back. My movements rouse him and his arm retreats back to rub the sleep from his eyes.

I don't have that luxury as I reach into my pocket. It's most likely my mom and if I delay answering any longer she'll send the cops. The contact picture is actually Ike, he's flipping me off in the picture. I roll my eyes and press to answer. "What do you want, dickhead?"

He sniggers on the other end. _"Hello to you too, queermo."_ Ike knows I'm gay. He gives me shit for it, but in that 'caring sibling' kind of way, there's no malice behind his insults. He doesn't know who I'm head over heels for, but I think he's suspicious. _"Mom wanted me to call and tell you dinner's almost ready."_

Stan is watching me on the phone. "What if I wanna stay at Stan's for dinner?" My brow raises at Stan who just shrugs as if saying 'sure'.

" _Nah, mom says you need to have at least one dinner with us this week."_ I think he can hear me roll my eyes. _"Mom also said to stop rolling your eyes at me."_

"Fuck you." I shoot back.

" _You'd probably like it."_

I breathe a heavy sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "Tell mom I'll be home soon." I don't give him the time to reply before ending the call. I start to stand, hearing various body parts start to snap back into place after being curled or bent for so long. My back pops and I'm left with a crick in my neck from resting on Stan's shoulder. "I guess I have to go home."

Stan frowns. "Aw, I'm sure my mom wouldn't mind having you for dinner again."

"My mom wants me to eat with them at least once." I find my backpack where I left it when I got in. I always bring my stuff here or he brings his to my house as our time together often turns into staying over at the other's house. We prepare. It's mostly just essentials like school books, tooth brush, change of underwear and my laptop. And my Unshaka because I hate putting in the effort to work my hair when I stay over here so I keep my hat with me.

"See you tomorrow?" He offers me his fist.

I knock mine against it. "Always." He walks me to the front door and I wave goodbye to his mom. His dad isn't home yet and I think Shelley is up in her room.

When I'm about walk out the door into the crisp night air, I feel his hand on my shoulder. "And… Kyle." I turn back to him. "Uhh… thanks for… ya know."

I blink in surprise. He doesn't normally thank me so the prospect is foreign. "Don't… Don't mention it?" It comes out as more of a question than I mean it to, but my point gets across. I offer him a wave and an unconvincing smile and trudge forward for my home.

Thankfully the walk is nothing in a small town like South Park and I'm home in minutes. Those minutes are mostly spent in my head as my body goes on auto-pilot for what seems like the millionth time today. Have I been looking at our situation completely wrong? Does he actually get more out of it than just a mouth to fill? Does he… Does he think that maybe I don't like it? I mean, he wouldn't technically be wrong. Or does he actually notice my slowly-deteriorating mental well-being now that I'm his man-tress (male version of mistress)?

These questions plague me as I enter my parents' home. My mom's busy in the kitchen while dad is in the dining room with the evening paper. Ike is on the couch, watching TV and is the one to greet me when I enter and kick off my shoes by the door. "Look who finally decided to join us!" His sarcasm is palpable.

"Shut it, Ike. I'm not really in the mood." I start up the stairs and he's right behind in seconds. I stop for only a millisecond to decide whether to let Ike follow me, but I concede and head for my room.

Ike follows inside, uninvited. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Eat me." I really don't want to deal with my brother right now. I try to ignore him and pull out my laptop. It's decorated in several layers of stickers. Each layer is a different obsession I've had. The first layer is Chinpokomon, there are a couple more layers I forget and now it's covered in Marvel stickers. The biggest is Captain America's shield in the very center. This laptop is old, but I can't part with it.

I hear the door shut and assume Ike left until there's an indent at the foot of my bed. "Kyle, what happened?" It's his serious voice. "You haven't been this mopey in a while."

I eye him around my screen. "It's nothing, dude, just leave me alone." I want to tell Ike. I want to complain about this to my little brother, but he's already having a tough time in middle school. Not with grades, my brother's super smart. He won't tell me exactly, but I think it's probably his sexuality and because of this, I never pry. I let him know I'll be here when he's ready to confide.

Unfortunately, Ike doesn't give me the same curtesy. He yanks my laptop from my lap, me in tow behind it in an effort to take it back. "Ike, you asshole, give me my computer back!" He's keeping me at bay with one arm and holding the computer away with the other.

"Not until you tell me what's bugging you, Kyle!" I know this all comes from a place of caring and love, but this is a tough subject.

I give in though, because if I don't, Ike will find new ways to torture me. This is just what he came up with on the fly. If I give him more time… A shiver runs up my spine at the thought. I don't even want to think about that. My brother may only be twelve, but he can be a vindictive little shit when he needs to be. Too often that's wasted on me. "Fine, just… don't talk until I'm done."

And so I explain everything to him. About how Stan forced me out of the closet. About how he wants me to blow him whenever he needs to unload (Ike understands most sex lingo). I tell him about my conflicted feelings due to Wendy and my love for my best friend. I try to play off my feelings for Stan as being less intense than they are, but he can see through that. I have to stop once because he tries to speak in the middle. I go on about everything and the more I tell, the more I feel a weight lifting off my chest. I can finally let someone in on this secret I've been harboring for months and, while it still makes me a horrible person, I feel a bit better.

"Shit, dude…" He sits in awe, staring at the travesty that is me and my love life. "God, I'm almost sorry I asked."

I shrug and just pull my knees up to my chest. I notice my eyes had started to water during all that and just blink it off. Shouldn't dinner be done by now? Mom has yet to call us down. "Yeah."

"You love him." It's not a question.

"Yup."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a cocky smirk. "I always knew you had a hard-on for Stan." He's becoming more and more like Kenny every day, I really can't stand it.

"You need to stop hanging around Kenny, he's a bad influence on you." Not that his self-loathing big brother is any better.

Ike rolls his eyes at me. Why can he do it to me and I can't to him? "Yeah, whatever. But seriously, are you gonna tell him?"

I stare at my brother as if he has three heads. "Fuck no I'm not telling him!"

"You should."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

Ike shrugs. "He could feel the same way."

I choke out a mirthless laugh at that. "Oh Ike, your innocence is one of the main reasons people like you. He doesn't love me, he's not even gay. He probably pictures Wendy when I'm blowing him." My words sting me, but I don't find them any less true.

"Or does he think about you when he's with her?" What little naivety he has, shows true in his words. I think my brother's a hopeless romantic at heart. Maybe I am too, but not to his extent.

I just shake my head. "Trust me, he doesn't think about me. Not like that."

"I don't know. You two are pretty big queers when you're around each other. Half the time I worry I'll come back and you're trying to bone." Yeah, he definitely needs to stay away from Kenny.

I close my eyes and breathe in, then out. "Ike, Stan's not gay. I promise you that."

"Whatever you say, bro." He gets up to leave. "Kyle…" I meet his gaze, hoping for something on the subject of his own struggles. "Make sure you keep your teeth out of the way." He leaves, snickering, before I can flip him the bird.

He's such a little asshole. The spitting image of Kenny McCormick. I don't even know why those two bonded. Maybe Kenny's attraction to anything with a pulse combined with Ike's questioning of his sexuality drew them together…. No, no, that is not a door I want to open up. Literally or figuratively. Nu-uh. If Kenny wants to fuck my little brother, he has to go through me… That might not be as tall an order for him as I think it will be.

Ike's words about Stan return to my head. There's no way in which my brother could be right about this. Stan Marsh is as straight as they come. Maybe not with me because we've been friends for so long, but he definitely doesn't see me as anything more than his super best friend with benefits.

* * *

The next morning I'm readying myself for school. My talk with Ike was successful in lifting my mood and I'm much less broody. I forgo the styling today in favor of just sporting my old Unshaka. It's balmy as we're heading into fall so I can start dressing warmly again or at least somewhat so. Over my clothes I'm wearing a South Park High hoodie. It used to be Stan's but after freshman year he had a growth spurt that made it too small, it's a bit baggy on me though because I never bulked up like Stan did. I like it though because the sleeves are just long enough to slide over my hands and wear like gloves.

The honk of a car horn alerts me to my ride. It's Stan in his old pick-up. I wave to mom as I run out the door, completely forgetting to take anything for breakfast because I just want to see Stan and show him my good mood.

I yank open the passenger door, it squeaks from age and I hop in. "Morning." I smile at him. He's wearing an unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a black T-shirt beneath. He's also taken up his old beanie. Or at least a newer version since his other got mauled by a lawnmower when his dad got drunk.

He seems surprised at my sudden up-beat attitude. "Uh, morning." He blinks and puts the truck in drive while I adjust the radio. Stan only gets like three stations so it's either oldies, country, or Christian rock. I pick the country only because I at least know some of it. "Your mood's changed." He doesn't take his eyes off the road but I can see a smile on his face.

"Yeah, Ike and I had a talk last night and I think I'm feeling better." I know he was aware of my worrying.

He feigned a hurt puppy look and pouted. "You'd rather talk to your own _brother_ before me? That hurts, Kyle." He makes a fake sniffle and I punch him in the arm.

"Asshole, what if it was about you?" Which it was, but I would never tell him that.

He turns to me as we hit at a red light and blinks, but he squints shrewdly. "You talkin' shit, Broflovski?"

I just roll my eyes, snickering at him. "No more than usual." We're moving again.

"Maybe I'll just have to start talking to Cartman about you." He's looking at me out of the corner of his eye to get my reaction.

I just give him a smug smile. "Go ahead, let's see how long you can last with the fatass."

His words apparently don't have the effect he wants because he shivers at my suggestion. "Fine, you win. Talk to Ike behind my back all you want." He pulls his truck into the school's parking lot and finds his normal spot.

The sound of the truck's gears signal that it's now in park. Before we can get out, however, something swings itself into the back of the pick-up. Checking the mirror, Stan sighs. "Fucking Kenny."

Our friend is jumping up and down in the bed of Stan's truck as we vacate the vehicle. I swing my backpack over one shoulder.

"Watch the paint, McCormick. I just got her polished!" That's a lie. This truck has never even seen a washing since Stan's parents gave it to him. The brown color is mostly just dirt.

Kenny takes this as a challenge and climbs atop the cab. "Come and make me!" His voice is somewhat muffled by the bandana he's taken up wearing in lieu of the orange parka he grew out of. Kenny's hair is blonde and shimmery from the grease of a boy lacking a shower. He stomps his combat boots around on the poor cab.

"Get down, asshole!" Stan makes a grab for Kenny's ankles, but our destitute friend is just the slightest bit faster and hops out of the way. "Seriously, Kenny. Get the fuck off." That's Stan's serious voice. He's pissed.

Our friend actually listens this time and hops into the bed, then swings himself back onto the pavement.

"You know the old adage 'you are what you are eat'?" I start in as I follow him into the parking lot to meet Stan. "It must be true, because you're a dick."

"I aim to please."

Stan makes it a point to sock Kenny in the arm as we round the corner. "Don't ever fucking do that again!"

Rubbing the space where there will likely be a bruise with how hard Stan punched him, Kenny just smiles. Or it seems like a smile, it's hard to tell with the bandana. "Alright, alright. Don't need to tell me twice." We probably will though.

* * *

First period is beyond dull. Mr. Garrison is droning on about "illegal Canadians" or something. Yeah, he moved up to the high school level. A while back he quit as a grade school teacher and entered the presidential race. That was around the same time the town's gentrification was taking place. When he lost, he went back to teaching but because the grade school was still run by that PC Principal asshole, Garrison moved on to teach high school.

Come to think of, that whole time brought a few of the grade school faculty up here. Principal Victoria was replaced by PC Principal so after she and Garrison stopped the gentrification she was left without a job. Luckily the high school's principal left the summer before we started and she was instated as the new principal. Mr. Mackey, too, became the high school's counselor after he quit the grade school out of fear of PC Principal. He still gives his 'drugs are bad, mmmkay' speeches from time to time.

I find a sort of sick irony in the fact that most of our fourth grade class ended up in Garrison's first period. We were missing Clyde and Bebe, I think, but otherwise it's the same group of fourth graders. Maybe it's some plot to keep us all together, who knows?

I'm at the front of the class in the middle. Stan is to my left with Wendy on his other side. Kenny's in back, probably already sleeping. With Wendy and I separated by Stan, Cartman couldn't pass up the chance to take a seat behind Stan just so he could irritate us both.

" _Jew_." The hiss makes my fist clench in reaction. " _Jeeeeeew_." Don't respond Kyle, just let it go. " _Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew_!" I see Stan shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. "Jew!"

"ERIC CARTMAN!" Garrison screams at the top of his lungs and somewhere to my right I hear Tweek shriek in a combination of alarm and probably anxiety. "Do I need to send you to the principal, again?"

I have the biggest, smuggest grin on my face as Garrison proceeds to chew Cartman out over interrupting his class.

As if in mercy of the fat bastard, the bell rings and we all pile out of Garrison's class save for a few stragglers. At the door, Token is passing out flyers. Each is a picture of his home with a date, time and acronym: 'BYOB'. It's for next week. "Tell all your friends!"

Stan, Wendy and I each take a flyer. "Thank god, I've needed a Token party for a while." Stan folds up his flyer and stuffs it into his pocket.

"Oh please, it's just an excuse for everyone to get wasted and have sex." Wendy doesn't sound impressed, or look it as she crumples up the flyer and tosses it in the nearby trash can.

Stan just snickers at her. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He winks and she blushes, scowling at him.

"You don't actually want to go, do you?" Does she not know Stan at all?

His arm comes around her shoulders as we walk. "Of course I do. It's been too long since Token threw a rager."

"Stan, we're juniors now, we should be worrying more about college than getting wasted."

He frowns. "In college, all they worry about is getting wasted! I'm just starting early." He's trying to be funny and it works on me. I chuckle.

"Don't encourage him, Kyle!" A Testaburger glare is shot my way, erasing any sort of joy the instant it hits. "Really Stan, you shouldn't be wasting time at parties. You need to keep your grades up! Remember how much you struggled last year?" She's right, Stan had an awful sophomore year, mostly because he's an awful procrastinator, but his attention span is also less-than-adequate at the best of times.

He just sighs at his girlfriend. "Wendy, seriously, chill." Her glare is turned on him, but he's immune by now. "I'm doing fine right now."

"It's only September."

"Exactly! I deserve a little R and R before everything starts piling up."

Wendy evens out her mood with a deep breath, but I can tell she's still a bit miffed. "Alright, fine. But the second you start falling behind, I'll be right there to tell you 'I told you so'."

He chuckles at her. "I wouldn't expect anything else." He kisses her cheek and that seems to cool any remaining ire.

They detach since Wendy doesn't have our next period. "I'll see you guys in history." She returns his affections with a kiss to his cheek and saunters off.

As much as our relationship confuses me, theirs is every bit more bewildering. I know I went over this, but come on. Wendy and Stan are not people that work well together. I mean, yeah, I guess they're cute, but that's mostly due to the whole 'elementary school sweethearts' bullshit. But now that they're grown, Wendy's become more domineering and Stan has come to be every bit as aloof.

I guess I can be domineering too, one of my many faults. But I don't want to become the next Wendy Testaburger. They don't have in common what Stan and I do though. Ugh, go away jealousy.

"So, you gonna come watch practice? We can go to my house after and play _Halo_ or something." His suggestion knocks me from my subconscious. I don't think he noticed this time.

I grin. "Want me to kick your ass for the umpteenth time, huh?"

"I had my eyes closed last time!"

"We played almost twenty rounds!"

"I needed to rest my eyes a lot."

I elbow him playfully as we find our seats in the next class: art. I suck at art. Stan has a surprising knack for it. I can't make anything more than some poorly-rendered characters out of construction paper. "Sure, I'll come watch."

"Anything to see me in compression pants." He snickers beside me, digging through his backpack for his sketch book.

I catch myself before the blush can rocket over my face. "Not like there's much to see."

He fake sniffles like when we were riding to school. "That hurts, man." As he speaks, one hand is busy at work sketching something I can't really make out. His other hand is purposely blocking it.

"Why don't you ever let me see what you're drawing?" I pout at his hand shield as if that will lift it.

His tongue is out between his lips, a trait I always think to be really adorable whenever he's busy arting away. "Because they don't look good until I'm done."

I can't help a snicker. "You imply they're good at all." They're amazing, actually.

"Yup, that's why I'm pulling an A in this class and you've already got a hard C." His eyes never leave the page while he speaks.

Between any other people, his jab might have hurt, but instead it just makes me laugh. "Well, if I had known my super best friend was Pablo-fucking-Picasso, I might not have agreed to take art with him." The bell rings for class to start, but in Art it's a lot of 'at your own pace' work. Our teacher sits at the front and because we have projects due by the end of the week, she just lets us have free reign, within reason.

"Finally something I'm better at than Kyle Broflovski." He chuckles while his pencil works furiously.

"Athletics notwithstanding?"

He shrugs. "I'm only in football, dude. I bet if you went back to basketball, they'd take you."

"Nah, we couldn't be doing any better _with_ me."

"It's not like they're doing any better _without_ you." That's true. The South Park Cows (don't ask why they decided to keep the name for the high school too) basketball team is having its worst season to date. Nobody can figure out why. "And done!" He offers me the sketchbook.

I blink at the newly-drawn image, inspecting it. "It's… It's my hat." He drew my Unshaka as if it were left on a desk or something. It's crumpled over to one side. The detail and realism is something I can't believe. "Dude, you even got the string that's falling out!" Inside my hat, the stitching has started to come loose, it's near impossible to see while I'm wearing it.

"I haven't seen you wear it in a while, so I thought I'd make something permanent." He acts as if it's nothing. Maybe to someone else it would be, but it just makes me feel giddy and happy and stupid.

I trace over the lines with my finger, taking in every precious feature as if I'm not wearing the article on my head. "This is one of your best." Even each bit of felt that lines my hat is meticulously outlined.

He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "You really think so?" I nod instantly. "I like to think I keep my best ones at home."

"And why haven't I been allowed to see these 'best ones'?"

His embarrassed smile drops a bit. "Well, I'm not really ready for anyone to see them. They're… special."

This is all news to me. I always assumed Stan had more than just the one book, but I really hadn't thought much else about it. "Could I see them?" Thinking about what could be in those books got me all eager.

"No." His voice is flat and a bit more stern than normal. "Uh, sorry, just, not yet. I promise, you'll be the first to see them."

Admittedly, I'm a little hurt he doesn't trust me enough to have let me in on the secret already, but I can understand. It's not as if he's the only one holding something back. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

The rest of our school day isn't particularly eventful. Cartman got sent to the principal's office for apparently referring to the teacher he has for Russian as a 'Commy bitch' so our lunch period was quiet. Stan sat with the rest of the football team, something he doesn't do often, but apparently they were getting pumped for their practice or some such. So I ended up seated with Kenny, Butters, and Clyde. Token joined us too but had to leave early to speak to his next teacher.

I arrive at the football field just as our team is starting their pre-practice stretching regimen. Stan shoots me a wave and I return it before looking for a seat on the bleachers.

There are a few other students. Mostly girlfriends of the players. I climb a few flights and find the one viewer that surprises me though… "Tweek?"

The sound of his name makes him cry out in his nervous twitchy way. "Oh, Kyle." It's not so much a greeting as it is him acknowledging my presence. "What are you doing – ngh – here?" He still has the same tick from when we were kids. The good news is that he's stopped shivering.

I take my seat next to him, not taking it personally when he scoots away. I know he hates being touched. "Stan wanted me to come watch." My backpack plunks between my legs. "You here for Craig?"

"Yeah."

Tweek and Craig were interesting to me. Ever since the gentrification, everyone assumed they were a couple. They even 'broke up' at one point and then were back together because their relationship seemed to keep the town out of a deep depression. The only times I saw them then they were holding hands, but lately I've come to notice them spending more time with one another.

There are whispers about them and judging by Tweek's darting eyes at me and everyone around, I think the rumors are getting to him. "Tweek, nobody's talking about you."

He chews on one finger and from the football field I catch Craig glaring at him. He stops chewing immediately. "They're a-always talking!" He shoves his hands into his pockets to presumably keep from biting them. "I always hear the –ngh– rumors!"

"People spread rumors about Stan and I all the time." I think that's meant to comfort him. "Besides… I thought you and Craig were… actually a couple?"

His head shakes 'no' violently. "I-I don't know – ngh – what we are!" Is there more going on than just hand holding? "Craig doesn't want me – ngh – talking about it."

I scan him for a second. "Talking about what?"

His breathing evens as he takes two deep breaths. "We've kinda been… uh…" He shivers, but I don't think it's the mania causing it. "K-Kissing…" His last word is quiet, another surprise from the spazoid.

"Oh… _Oh!_ " His words finally process. "So… the rumors are true?"

My mention of those rumors makes him take in another couple breaths. "S-Some."

I just blink. Craig and Tweek and I aren't exactly best friends. To be quite honest, Craig's an asshole. Tweek is weird, but whenever we hang out he's fun so I consider him a friend. But the fact something is actually going on between them leaves me dumbfounded. "You and…" My eyes fall on Craig as he tosses a football to a teammate across the field.

Tweek nods with a slight twitch. "We don't do – ngh – anything heavy just… kissing." He's biting at chapped lips now and as soon as he does, Craig's eyes find us again and under his stare Tweek lets go of his lip. "He says it's to – ngh – keep up appearances… but he only kisses me when we're alone." There's a blush appearing on the spaz's cheeks.

I realize my time for information gathering might be limited given the effect Craig seems to have so I have to ask my questions quickly. "Well… do you like it?"

"Yeah."

"Does he like it?"

"I – ngh – think so."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"That's too much pressure!"

I can't really argue given my own predicament. "I know, but you might be surprised at the result." Isn't that what Ike told me?

"Or I might – ngh – not be surprised at all!" He blinks one eye at a time. This kid is so hard to read because his paranoia is all that's ever plastered on his face. Craig must be a miracle worker to get anything else out of him. Then again, Craig is also extremely withdrawn so maybe they work well at bringing out those buried parts of each other.

"There's always a chance of the world exploding, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't step outside." Where this type of proverbial bullshit came from, I have no clue.

He blinks, twitching. "The-The world is going to explode?! Nah!" His hands are over his head as if to protect himself.

I can do nothing but sigh. "No, Tweek. I mean, there's always a chance for the worst possible outcome, but that shouldn't stop you from living life." I want to pat him on the shoulder out of comfort, but I don't feel the action has its place with Tweek. "If all else fails, just become a pessimist like me. That way you're either right or pleasantly surprised." Boy, do I love being right.

Realizing the world is not about to explode, my nervous classmate lifts his hands out of his wild mop of hair. He seems content that he's not in any immediate danger. "You might – ngh – be right." He starts wringing his wrists, deep in contemplation for a moment before Craig catches his eye again and he stops. Does the kid have some kind of sixth sense for when Tweek is damaging his body? "He doesn't like me hurting myself." His voice is even, almost calm when he answers my unasked question and his eyes have yet to leave Craig.

I nod, unsure what to do with that. "If talking is too much pressure, you could try… writing him a note or letter or something?" I know it seems to work when people break up through text. Maybe not for the dumped, but certainly the dumper.

His eye contact with the aforementioned asshole finally breaks. "A… letter…" without so much else in the way of conversation, the spazoid begins digging through his messenger bag for a notebook and a pencil. His writing is near chicken scratch, but I can make out some words as he hurriedly scrawls them.

I realize my nosiness is getting the better of me and turn to the practice I came to watch. Stan is up next to push the practice dummy. He runs, screaming at the plush human shape. This must be where his aloofness comes from, he gets rid of any stress and anger during football.

My eyes are drawn to every muscle outlined beneath his compression shorts. I might be drooling, but I could care less as my friend forces the dummy down field. All the blood rushes to my groin as multiple images of him in his uniform, quite a few where he's nearly nude, assault my mind. When I can register what's happening, what blood is left reaches my cheeks. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ My backpack is in my lap, I'm holding it close like a stuffed animal necessary for comfort.

"You okay?" Tweek asks from my side.

I find irony in the fact _he_ is the one asking _someone else_ if they're 'okay'. "Yeah, fine." No, I'm not. I'm lusting after my super best friend. The same one whom I'm madly in love with and would do anything for and anyone can see the effect he has on me.

I should really learn how to take my own advice and tell him, or I could just avoid the problem and hope it goes away. Probably the second one.

* * *

 **KeruKeru: This was really fun to write and as stated above, it will most likely become my priority over the other two so if any of my usual readers are reading this, I'm sorry! If you enjoyed the first chapter, please leave a review and follow/favorite! I always love hearing from you guys!**


	2. Ain't No Party Like a Token Party

**KeruKeru: So I actually wrote this chapter a LOT faster than I thought I would. I mean, the first chapter only came out two days ago. I can't promise quick updates like this as I go forward because I'm still in the process of figuring out what'll happen later in the story. Anyway, please enjoy!**

* * *

2\. Ain't No Party Like a Token Party

The blaring alarm clock wrestles me from my dreamless sleep. I really fucking hate that sound. I mean, I wasn't particularly enjoying a dream or anything, but it still leaves me feeling groggy as hell. I slam my fist over the button, partially hoping it shatters to pieces so I never have to see it again. It reads _5:30_ in bright red numbers and there are just barely rays of yellow creeping over the mountains. I have a calculus test today, I'm supposed to meet Wendy in an hour so we can study together since we ended up with the same class.

A crinkled piece of paper on my corkboard catches my eye. Fuck. Token's party is tonight too. Stan's been bugging me since we got the invites and I still have yet to give him an answer as to whether I'm going or not. I really don't want to. Parties aren't my scene. If I do go, I'm usually just attached at the hip with Stan all night, invading his conversations when he probably just wants some time to socialize.

The thought bothers me as I rise from my bed, stripping off the Terrance and Phillip pajama shirt I wear to bed. I fling it over my desk chair where it usually sits and make way for the shower. Ike isn't up yet, he won't be until after I leave probably left which means I can actually enjoy the hot water _and_ work my hair rather than it being an either-or situation.

The shower squeaks to life and I let my boxers fall so I can step under the steady stream of near-searing water. I love my showers as hot as can be. They're the only times I can be naked and burning at the same time where severe embarrassment isn't a factor. The steam makes my bed head frizz before I wet it. The hot water dripping over me makes me sigh as if all my teenage angst is being washed away. There's nothing left but me and the showerhead. I close my eyes.

Stan is suddenly in the shower with me. His arms are wrapped around me from behind. The water's off and it's his body making me feel drenched in warmth. One hand reaches up to play with my hair, fingers combing through the damp, ginger curls. I moan and it seems to encourage him. Both hands are in my hair now, massaging my scalp. I can smell my shampoo, he's lathering my head. His body is still pressed directly to mine. Oh shit, he's hard. I can't really make out the size, but it's decent

Still slicked with soap, his hands glide their way over my tomato skin. His palms slide down my body, my spine arching to meet his touch for all its worth. He just misses my groin, I'm hard too. He grabs my thighs, they seem puny in his hands. I can feel his breath on my neck, somehow hotter than his body. "You smell good, Ky."

My eyes shoot open, bolting around the confines of the shower for any hint that might have been real. It wasn't. The hands that were in my hair? They were mine. I worked my hair into a lather while my mind was elsewhere. My body's auto-pilot has become so sophisticated that it knows how to clean itself without any prompting from me. I touch the back of my neck, nothing.

I rinse my hair and finish with the rest of my body before just staying beneath the water. My body's grown accustomed so I need a slight turn and the temperature rises to keep me warm. I don't even recognize my eyes closing this time, Stan is just there. Only now, we're both beneath the water. His black hair is drenched, but I think it looks cute when it's wet. I play with it and he just smiles.

His cheeks show the sign of heat as they're colored pink, probably like mine are. His arms come around my waist and I jump. He chuckles at my reaction and just kisses my forehead. "Someone's wound up this morning." I can't even tell if this is a dream or not. I'm nearly positive I'm awake, but everything about this seems so real. "You okay, Kyle?" His voice his calm and soothing.

I just nod, thinking that if I say no he'll leave me. My head presses into his chest. His chest is incredibly solid, no give like his body usually has and it's not warm like he is. It's fucking cold. My eyes open again. My forehead is flush with the shower door and I just grumble to myself while turning off the water. These hauntings really need to stop because they're getting fucking old.

The bathroom is packed full of steam and only more spills out of the shower with me. A throb makes me look down and I'm still clearly hard. Shower Stan should really learn to be less like Stan and give me a hand, shit. I just glower at my crotch until it deflates.

I dry myself quickly, making sure just a slight dampness is left in my hair for when I have to work it. I brush my teeth and then retreat to my room with the towel around my waist. The first thing I see is my bed-side clock: _6:17_. Fuck, I need to be at school in thirteen minutes. I guess my hair's out of the question.

I hurry to get into some clothes, just jeans and a t-shirt with Thor's hammer as a lone decal. Stan got it for me for my birthday back in March. His birthday is soon and I have a similar shirt with Captain America's shield all ready to go. Each shirt represents our favorite Avenger and, subsequently, the one we dressed up as for Halloween way back when. Unshaka on.

I make my way downstairs. Even when South Park is tiny, I can't make it to the high school in time on foot. I scrawl my mom a note about taking her car and grab the keys. My next move is to shoot Wendy a text apologizing if I end up late. She responds but I'm already in my mom's Sedan, pulling out of the driveway.

The trip is barely five minutes before I'm parked. Colorado is still clinging to summer for as long as possible so I'm not too cold when I hop out and make way for the front doors of the school. A few other students are here too. I offer Kenny and Butters a wave when I see them in the cafeteria chatting, but continue on my way to the library.

The realization then hits me like Mack truck. I'm going to be studying with Wendy. The same Wendy whose boyfriend I was just fantasizing about in the shower. The same Wendy whose boyfriend I'm madly in love with. The same Wendy whose boyfriend I'm blowing. The only positive to this is that as far as Stan or I are aware, she knows nothing of our agreement. She still thinks we spend way too much time with one another, but aside from that, she's clueless.

She's the only one in the library when I make it in. She's sporting Stan's green and white football jersey because they have a game right after school, it's extremely large on her. I would go, but Stan knows going to practice is already iffy for me, much less being surrounded by a bunch of our screaming peers.

She doesn't acknowledge me with her nose buried in a book, but my noise from sitting must alert her to my presence. Her manicured nails find her bookmark and place it expertly inside _Jane Eyre_. "Good morning, Kyle." Wendy smiles at me, but there's something else behind her smile. I can't quite place it.

"Morning." I push the thought to the back of my mind. "Isn't that, like, the hundredth time you've read that book?" I don't recall seeing her read much else.

She nods good-naturedly. "Close. I've only really read it about eight times, but I can't help it. I'm reading _Pride and Prejudice_ after I'm done, then maybe _The Feminine Mystique_." Neither choice surprises me. She's a bookworm on top of being a super-feminist.

I dig into my backpack for the math book and set it out in front of me, a notebook and pencil in tow. "How'd Stan like _Mystique_? He told me you made him read it."

She stiffens, if only slightly, it's enough that I pick up on it. What's with her? "You know Stan. He read the first chapter and got bored with it." She let out an exasperated sigh at her failed attempts to culture her boyfriend. Wendy wasn't seeming any different other than the previously mentioned dings to her mannerisms. Maybe all the girls were fighting again.

I thumb through the math book until I come to the dog-eared page. She does the same, she marks her place with sticky notes, however. "I figured. Stan's more the supportive feminist than the active one."

She sighs, this time more out of fondness for something I can't figure out, but she nods nonetheless. "It's better than him being a fuckboy." Wendy cursing is something of a rarity. Stan and I are avidly cursing like sailors, but she's almost too refined for it at times.

"Yeah, I guess there's always _that_ alternative." I smirk to myself. "Or he could be Cartman 2.0." He would punch me for saying that, but because it's Wendy she just grimaces.

"Don't even joke about that!" I think she shivers too. "I don't think I would even be with Stan if it came to that." I don't blame her.

Our studying isn't so much 'studying' as it is just working through different problems and assisting the other when we get stuck. Otherwise, we're silent aside from the scraping of our pencils over paper. That's why when hers is suddenly silenced, I'm forced to look up. Her crystal blue eyes are plagued with some deep thought. They're darting side to side almost like Tweek's, but also as if she's arguing with herself.

"Are you al-"

"I'm breaking up with Stan." The question can't even leave my lips before she blurts that out. Now, I feel the need to explain. Wendy Testaburger does not just blurt things out. She is the kind of girl who puts the most meticulous of thoughts into each and every word she says. I've only ever seen her blurt something out once before and she was wasted at the time. Coincidentally, it was at a Token party. That night probably weighs heavily on why she hates the party scene too.

Her words don't process. Breaking up with Stan? Since when? She was just going on about him like they were fine. Though, with a little thought behind it, her earlier stiffening was when I mentioned his name. But then she said it too, right after, in fact. "You're dumping Stan?" It's all I can form with my agape mouth.

"After the football game."

I just blink at her. She looks more serious than she does during any kind of rally or cause she gets behind. This girl wants to break my best friend's heart. "Where the fuck is this coming from?!" More importantly, why am I the one hearing it before Stan?!

She's not surprised at all by my outburst. "It's been a long time coming." Could she be vaguer? And why is she looking at me like I should know what the reason it is? Unless…

"Okay, but why now and why right after the football game?"

She purses her lips and I almost think she won't answer. "If I do it before the game, it's going to mess with his head. I don't care that much for football with all of the injuries it causes, but I'm not going to jeopardize Stan getting athletic scholarships just to break up with him." Her reasoning lets show that, despite not wanting to be with Stan any longer, she does still care for him.

I have to take a second to breathe and process her words. Stan loves her and I thought she loved him too. I know _I_ can't stand their relationship, but I thought they were at least happy which was enough for me. Even if the little green monster on my back wanted to claw her eyes out and take her place. I'm a little dark.

I glare down at my textbook because I can't glare at her. "Why?"

"What?" Did my question catch her off guard?

"Why are you dumping Stan? He loves you!" And now I'm defending their relationship. I will fight tooth and nail to keep up my charade, even if it means keeping two people together I think shouldn't be. "And I thought you loved him." There's ice on my lips as I spit my comment at her like a lougie.

I hear her sigh, I'm still not looking at her. "Of course I love him." I finally meet her gaze. She looks more distraught than anything. "I just think he might care about someone else more than me." So Wendy Testaburger likes attention, who knew?

"Have you talked it over with him?"

Her lips turn up in a sort of melancholic smile. "No, I haven't. The signs are enough for me to know that we're not in the same place. He's always somewhere else." My stomach flips because it sounds like she's referring to Stan and I's extra-curricular fun, but her face gives off no hints to it. I'm fairly certain she's talking about him spending time with me though.

"I'll tell him to spend more time with you… if that's the problem." I really don't want to, but it's Stan and I know she makes him happy.

She just shakes her head. "I don't want you to have to tell him, Kyle." She side-steps whether or not that is the issue at hand. "I think on some level I always knew he was more devoted to someone else."

That's got to be me, right? I don't want to say anything more. I don't want to seem like I support their relationship, but I also am not feeling like a Testaburger argument to save it. Wendy seems to have her mind made up. "Okay…"

I quietly return to my math book and copy down a few equations. "I know you have feelings for him." My body freezes and, if at all possible, I pale.

She knows. She fucking knows?! Since when?! How did she find out?! My brain is starting to short circuit and my fist tenses around the pencil in my hand. I might break it if it gets any tighter. "Oh." It's all I can say because my mind is still flying a million miles a minute. Purple fingernails are suddenly in my vision as she clasps my white knuckles.

"It's okay, Kyle."

"No it's fucking not!" I hear the voice but it's far off, like someone across the library. I meet her gaze and see has concern plastered across her face. The outburst was mine. I retract my hand from hers and shove it into my lap. "How obvious do I make it…?" My voice is low now, I don't care if she hears me or not. There's really no point in denying it to Wendy.

I can see pity in her eyes. "Very, actually." Is that supposed to be a joke? "Not enough for Stan to notice, so you're fine." I guess that's good news. "It's mainly the way you look at him."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" That might have been more venomous than I meant it to be.

She flinches at my tone. "It means there's more in your eyes than just friendship. I'm a girl, we're masters at subtle hints like that."

I have to let out a joyless chuckle. Pining after my best friend is almost conspicuous the way I've caught myself doing it before. "I guess I can't put anything past Wendy Testaburger."

"You did, for a while." I raise a brow at her. "I noticed it late in freshman year after Stan made you come out." Oh, right, I forgot she was there at the time. "I didn't let myself believe it then, but the more I saw that look… I've never looked at Stan the way you do."

I take a deep breath. "I know." Am I trying to hurt her? I don't think so. I just know she hasn't had to deal with unrequited, angst-filled love for her same-sex best friend so I know she doesn't look at him the same way. Even Stan knows she doesn't. "Am I the reason you're… the reason you're breaking up with him?" Stan will never forgive me.

"Not entirely." That gives me hope, I guess. "I don't like being the reason you're so forlorn, though." Oh Wendy, it's not you, believe me.

I can't tell if she's lying, I don't think she is. "Who's this other person you think he's so devoted to?" I decide to veer the subject away from me. In the back of my head, I feel I haven't accomplished that.

She just shakes her head. "It's not my place to say." Wendy then giggles to herself, probably at my expense. "Granted, I don't think he'll ever say any time soon." The only girl I know he's ever really been friends with is Bebe and she's been fucking Clyde for the past few months from what I've heard. "I'll try to let Stan down as gently as I can."

"You don't need my blessing to break up with him." Even if I do know many of the gory details now.

The girl returns to her work, faintly smiling. "I know I don't, but with Token's party tonight, I get the feeling you might have your hands full with him. This was meant to be a warning for that." Shit, Stan's going to be wasted.

"You sure it can't wait until tomorrow?" My efforts are fruitless, I know once Wendy's made up her mind there's no changing it.

She shakes her head. "No, I think it's better for both of us if it happens sooner rather than later." Does she mean her and Stan or her and I?

"Can't get much later." I think the comment is meant to hurt her, but she doesn't react to it.

"Promise me you won't tell him. I know you two can barely keep secrets between each other." What's one more heart-crushing secret between friends, right?

I nod regardless. "Of course I won't. I can't break his heart _and_ pick up the pieces, we each have our jobs in this." Sarcasm is a wonderful defense mechanism, especially when I can use it to mask my own growing guilt and to insult the girl causing it.

She doesn't seem phased, but that's just Wendy being Wendy. My words were biting and I think it bothered her. "You can stop with the personal attacks." She calls me out on my shit and I feel worse.

"Sorry… There's just a lot of stuff I'm trying to process at once." Mostly how to keep Stan out of the bottle as much as possible. "I'll make sure he's safe tonight." _Safer_ , anyway.

"Thank you, Kyle."

We don't speak after that. My mind is reeling. I'm trying to figure out how Stan is going to react to Wendy's break up. His parents' former separation caused his last binge. From what Stan said, his mom and dad got into a huge fight which ended with his dad storming out. That was normal behavior for them, of course, but after a week Mrs. Marsh sat him and Shelley down and informed them their dad was finding an apartment to stay in for a while.

That was the night Stan called me, sobbing. His voice was slurred and I could practically smell the alcohol on his breath. We were only fifteen so I had to have my mom drive me to his house under the guise of spending the night. When in reality I was trying to talk Stan off a ledge. He was hysterical with the mix of booze and emotion, but I managed to get him into bed.

I feel myself blush at the next memory. _"Kyle, will you sleep with me?"_ We've slept in the same bed multiple times, before and after, but it was never either of us asking, we just did it. His voice was so broken and all I wanted to do was fix him. I got in bed with him and he snuggled instantly to my chest.

Stan slept curled up into me the entire night except at one point when he woke up screaming. He said it was just a bad dream, I think it was about his parents. I woke up the next morning with him wrapped completely around my body, arms and legs. It felt so warm and made me just want to lie with him forever.

Honestly, it shocked me how much his parents' separation affected him because it wasn't as if it was out of the blue. Sharon and Randy Marsh have a strained marriage at the best of times. It's usually only made worse by the fact Randy can't decide what he really wants to do with his life outside of Geology. He's gone from performing tween wave music, to wanting to host a TV cooking show, to impersonating a teen pop sensation, to gentrifying and then saving South Park. The man is a mess. I would never say that to Stan, but it's true. Sharon just goes along until she can't take it anymore. I can't imagine Stan if they ever decide to actually end their marriage. They're back together, for now anyway.

Stan cares so deeply about everyone, that's probably why it bothered him. Not to mention they're his parents. I can't relate since my parents have always had a happy marriage, sometimes a little… too happy. But even if they ever fight, he's there to console me. He even does so for Ike, it's really cute. I'm not the best big brother so sometimes Stan will take my place if Ike's having a problem.

" _Kyle, will you sleep with me?"_ I don't think he even remembers saying that. When I got there he had drunk three-quarters of a bottle of Jameson and was still nursing it before I could wrestle it away from him. He doesn't like to talk when he's that faded, just argue. He eventually broke down into drunken sobs and that's when I could finally get him to bed. We may have missed school the next day, but when my mom heard about the break up, she instantly lifted my grounding. We stayed in his room most of the day with him cuddled into me so as not to exacerbate his hangover and me just combing through his hair with my fingers, it soothed him.

That night is what worries me the most about tonight. Stan won't just not show up, he already promised Token to be there and he hates breaking plans with friends unless it's an emergency. But how will losing Wendy affect him? How much is he going to drink? I should forgo drinking to make sure he's safe. I don't enjoy myself drunk anyway, so I'll be used to it.

Thoughts like these continue to plague me all through the day. I avoid Stan as much as possible without making it seem like avoidance. There are a few times I nearly break down and tell him he's about to have his heart stomped on, but I promised Wendy. I skip lunch, not hungry with my mind in such a funk. I make up an excuse about studying more for my calculus test which I have afterward and remain in the library just thinking.

The test goes fine, I suppose. I turned the anxiety-ridden side of my brain off just enough to think straight which was difficult and only served to intensify my apprehension after the fact. It gets so bad I nearly forget about the fact I drove my mom's car to school. I get nearly halfway to my house before walking quickly back to the parking lot. My auto-pilot doesn't work in the car so I have to steady my breathing and thoughts while driving.

All I can think to do when I get home is nap because I just don't have the energy for anything else right now. I have to be at Token's to keep Stan from hurting himself and it's honestly going to take what little energy I do have. Sleep is fitful and full of images of drunk, blubbering Stan. Then it turns to his warmth wrapped around me and his hair between my fingers. _"Kyle, will you sleep with me?"_

* * *

My heavy eyes open, the sun has sunk beneath the mountains outside. I'm covered in a thin layer of sweat from sleeping in my clothes. Gross. My clock says it's past seven. I must have been way more exhausted than I thought. I check my phone, no texts from Stan. Did Wendy decide against breaking it off? Did they win the game? He would normally at least tell me the good news if they won…

I decide on a quick shower just to rinse and wet me hair. I don't need a repeat of this morning, not with the party so soon. I dry and start to work getting my hair perfectly coifed. This is a party and while I generally try not to care what others think (that's a total lie) I want to look nice. The product helps to tame my hair and keep it straight. I give it a little curl in front, like Clark Kent.

It's almost eight and still no word from Stan. Was he this distraught? I'm worried, but I still set about picking through my wardrobe. I pick out a forest green button-up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark-washed jeans. There's a knock at my door as I tug my jeans up. "Uh, come in?"

It's my dad. "Hey son, I just wanted to give you the drug and alcohol talk before you go out tonight. There will be a lot of kids offering you things an-"

"Dad, I'll be fine." I chuckle and slip a white undershirt over my torso. "Stan and Wendy are having problems so I need to keep a clear head for his sake." I don't to get too into detail since it is my father. "Besides, the Blacks have plenty of rooms for people to crash in if we get too drunk. Trust me, this is why Token is the one who has the parties."

He considers my words for a second and nods. "Alright, I just promised your mother I'd talk to you since she doesn't think you'll listen to her." He smiles. "She thinks it's a 'man talk'." He uses air quotes.

"Oh yeah, me man, me want get wasted." My gruff imitation of a caveman makes him laugh.

"If things get too out of control you can always call home and we'll come get you." He clasps a hand to my back. "Oh, speaking of which, did you need a ride?"

I shake my head and finish buttoning my shirt. "No, Butters and Kenny are meeting me here and then we're hoofing it to the party." I grab my things and store them on my person.

"Nonsense, when those boys get here, I'll take you all in my car." My dad is very weirdly joyful about getting me out of the house.

The doorbell alerts us to my friends. "That must be them." I slip on a pair of black Converse and lead my dad downstairs. He goes off to the kitchen to get his car keys.

I open the door and before me are my two friends. Butters is rubbing his fists together worriedly, probably because he thinks his parents are going to ground him for tonight. Kenny isn't wearing his bandana so I can actually see his grin. "Sup, Broflovski?"

"H-Hey, Kyle." Butters' voice is weak and filled with that evident uneasiness he's known for.

I smile at them both. "Hey guys."

My dad appears at my side. "Hello, boys, I'll be driving you guys. It's too cold for you all to walk."

It's still just barely October. There's a nip in the air, but nothing we can't handle as Coloradan kids. "Really, Mr. Broflovski, you don't have to." Kenny is more surprised as my dad's charity, not being one to accept such usually. "It's not that far."

My dad disregards him and ushers us out to the driveway. "I think he's just eager for him and mom to have the house alone for the night." I whisper to the other two. The thought makes me cringe.

"What about Ike?"

"He's over at some friend's house, I think." I haven't spoken to him since the previous day so I can't recall exactly. "But yeah, just go with it."

We climb into my dad's BMW without much fuss and are soon en-route to Token's mansion. "This is really nice of you, sir." Butters offers to my father.

He looks back with the rear view mirror and smiles. "No problem at all, Butters. I just want to make sure you boys get there safe and sound.

My dad drops us off a block in advance and even from this distance the pounding bass of Token's party is evident. Lucky for the Black's there isn't another residency for miles so no police to worry about. The closest building is the movie theatre and even that's a pretty decent hike from here.

"You guys stay safe and be sure to call if anything happens." My dad cares a lot.

"We will, dad, thanks." I hop out of the car as the others follow suit.

"Thanks, Mr. Broflovski!" Butters' mood seems to have lifted if only slightly as he slides out onto the sidewalk. Kenny offers a wave and slow jogs to the sidewalk beside Butters and I. We all wave as he drives off and we start for Token's home.

Butters' fists are back together. This kid must use serious amounts of lotion to keep his skin from chafing since he rubs it together so neurotically. "Kenny, my parents are gonna be real sore at me for sneaking out…" He's beside himself as usual.

"They won't find out, Leo." Leo? Since when does Kenny call Butters by his actual name? "You don't want to drink and you don't smoke so as long as you change into the clothes you left at my house, they'll never know you went to a party."

Butters doesn't seem to take that rationale well. "The-the last time I snuck out, they grounded me and kept me in my room for almost a month…" The thought terrifies me. I know his parents are strict, but fuck, a month? "I could only go to and from school…"

Kenny's arm is around his shoulder, much like Stan's goes around mine whenever he tries to comfort me. "Trust me, you'll be alright." He squeezes comfortingly. Since when are they so chummy with each other?

Butters tries breathing deeply to calm himself, it does little. "O-Okay…" His fists do come apart though. "Will you do a shot with me, Kenny?" That's the most adventurous thing I've ever heard Butters say when he wasn't angry and cursing someone out.

"Of course." I swear I see Kenny kiss his cheek and Butters blush from it, but it might just be a trick of the light, or lack of light.

We step over a few classmates already passed out on the lawn, I recognize some of Stan's teammates. The football team must have started the party. "Damn, it's not even nine." I chuckle at one in his jersey, vomit covering the green and white.

"Light-weights." Kenny snickers as we enter the mansion.

Most of our junior class is here. There are some seniors, sophomores and freshmen, but the majority of the throng is juniors. It's hot and sweaty and loud. I already feel out of place. I turn to see Butters and Kenny have already run off, probably for their shot. The only thought left on my mind right now is Stan.

I see Bebe and Clyde grinding on one another as I pass into the dining room. Token's set up the drinks on his family's dining table. I remember regretfully I was supposed to bring something of my own, but that would require sneaking it past my parents. I shrug, I wasn't planning to drink anyway. Token offers me a wave from where he and Red are chatting and I return it with a thumbs-up.

The kitchen is full of more drunk teenagers and food, mostly chips and pretzels. Someone brought a giant bag of Taco Bell, but most of it is already gone. "Sup Jew?" Even over this horrendously loud music, Eric Cartman's voice makes me skin crawl.

"Not now, I have more important things to worry about than your fatass." I cross my arms.

He's shoving the last of a challupa into his mouth. "God, what's got your panties in a bunch? Couldn't be that Wendy finally realized she could do better." He snickers. He knows too well that's my problem. "Yeah, it was about time Testaburger recognized Stan wasn't good enough for her. Now she can start dating real men." He pretends to be nonchalant about flexing his bicep.

"Fuck off, Cartman, that's not what happened at all." My fists clench and I strongly consider socking him in the face, nobody would blame me, they'd just think I was drunk. "Besides, Wendy has better tastes than a loud-mouth lard ass." Just keep insulting his weight, he'll go away eventually.

Cartman shrugs. "If you ask me, it was bound to happen eventually. Everyone's been saying Stan has a little piece on the side."

I blink, thankful the mansion is warm to compensate for my flushing cheeks. "He does not!" Yes he does.

"Whatever you say, Jew, but Stan's gonna be dating a new hot piece of ass any day now. And from the sound of it, Wendy's already jealous." He takes great pleasure in tormenting us both, but apparently more in seeing Wendy distraught. "By the way, your boyfriend's over with the potheads, might want to check on that." Eric Cartman being helpful? That's a new one.

I mutter a cursory 'thanks', knowing full well he can't hear it and start following the scent of pot. I'm outside on a patio where Token's hung a sign that says 'weed' to signify this is where people are meant to smoke. I see Stan instantly. He's not wearing his beanie, but his hair is combed nicely. His lips are on a bong that's just been passed to him and lit, sucking the smoke into his lungs.

He holds the breath for a bit until he notices me and jumps up, handing the bong over to the next in the circle: Tweek. "Kyyyyyyyyyle! You came!" Smoke billows out of his mouth as he speaks and he finds it hilarious. His laughter turns into a fit of sickly-sounding coughs. I fish his inhaler out of my breast pocket, glad my worry is good for something. He takes a puff after fumbling the first time and seems to be alright.

"You shouldn't be smoking, you know what it does to your asthma." He takes another puff for good measure and returns the medicine to my shirt pocket, patting it. I take this time to notice his eyes are pink from the weed, he's had a few hits and at least as many shots.

He wraps me in an unexpected hug. "I'm soooo glad you're here!" He's even more affectionate while drunk and that's saying a lot for our relationship. "I was worried you wo-wouldn't be here." I think he's using me more to steady himself, but I return the hug anyway.

"I heard about Wendy so I didn't want you to be alone tonight." His grip tightens at the mention of her and he nuzzles into my neck. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact there are other people around and wriggle out of his embrace. He seems hurt at first, but I grab his hand and make way into the house.

We stop for only a second because he sees something he wants in the dining room. He returns lugging a half-full bottle of Pinnacle vodka. I shake my head, but it's a party and he just got dumped, besides, I'm taking care of him now. We make it up to one of the unoccupied guest rooms. The music is barely muffled, but we can speak normally.

He crawls onto the bed shakily, sitting crisscross with the bottle in his lap. He pats the bed in front of him for me to take my seat. I do. Our knees are touching when I cross my legs. "How much have you had?"

Stan attempts counting on his fingers, but apparently loses track. "I lost count after my – hic – fifth shot." I can smell the pot and alcohol on his clothes. I also notice he's sporting his jersey, the same one Wendy was wearing earlier.

"You really shouldn't be drinking right now." I try to communicate my point about his last time drinking away sadness with my eyes, but the alcohol must be blocking the receptors in his brain.

He's unscrewing the top of the blue bottle. "Why not? I'm a free man now!" Even through the drunken haze I can see he doesn't like saying that. "I can do whatever I _want!_ " He takes a swig from the bottle and offers it to me.

I really don't want to, but I've seen Stan when I don't accept his offers to drink. I concede and put the glass to my lips. The liquid burns on its way down, almost making me cough with the odd warmth in my chest, but I hold it back. "Did Wendy tell you why she dumped you?"

His head tilts from side to side, red eyes glossy. "You have really pretty hair." He chuckles to himself, either not hearing or disregarding my question. He flings himself back on the bed, tugging his jersey up just enough to expose his lower belly. "Wendy's such a bitch." He chuckles again. "No, wait, that's not nice. She's a very nice lady." He sounds like Butters

Honestly, I'm kind of enjoying this right now. I take another swig of vodka without thinking and just watch over him. "What about Cartman?" My previous conversation with the pig brings him to mind.

"Oh, _fuck_ Cartman! That guy's a fucking douche!" Stan sits up instantly, almost startling me with how close he gets. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. "Did you know Cartman stole my favorite Lambtron card back in fifth grade? He never gave it back!" This isn't too-drunk Stan, which is a good sign. "Bastard told everyone _he_ found it."

I snicker at the story. "You should've told his mom, I bet she would've made him give it back." That's not true, Mrs. Cartman loves her son to a point she'd do anything to spoil him even on her meager salary.

He groans and covers his face in his hands. "Why didn't I think – hic – of that?! Do you think she'd still make him give it back?"

"Stan, I think Lambtron's long gone by now."

He huffs and flings himself backward on the bed. "That figures. I lose Wendy and Lambtron in the same day!"

"You lost Lambtron six years ago." I watch him, amused. "And you still haven't told me about what happened with Wendy."

He lifts his head, dazed eyes focusing on me. "You need to drink more, I want to see Kyle Broflovski wasted!"

I shake my head, taking another drink to appease him. The alcohol is already getting to me, making my head feel swimmy, but I'm still in my right mind, mostly. "Happy?"

"More!"

"Stan, no, one of us needs to stay coherent." Or as close as possible.

He pouts. "No we don't, we're sleeping here tonight."

"Oh, and when were you going to tell me about this?"

"Just now." He grins. He makes grabby hands for me despite the fact he could easily just sit up. "Lay with meeeeeeeeee!" He sounds like a petulant child. I replace the cap on the vodka and set the bottle on the ground before laying over the bed. Stan instantly pulls me against him like before. Between the booze and weed I can still smell him, that Stan scent I've become accustomed to. It makes me blush. "Wendy dumped me." He says this quietly as if it's a secret.

I let one arm come around him while the other is sandwiched between us. "I know she did, dude, that's why I'm here."

He presses his nose against my hair and inhales softly. "Your hair gel smells funny." I can't tell if he's trying to avoid talking about Wendy or if he really just can't think straight. I hope for the latter.

Our proximity is making me fell warm, both out of embarrassment and because Stan's warm. He's warmer than usual, probably from the alcohol, but I could easily melt into him if given the chance. My own mind is swimming on the little alcohol I've had on an empty stomach, I'm a major light-weight though. "Drugs are bad, mmmkay?" I tease him and he can't hold back a more boisterous laugh.

"Dude, you sound just like Mackey!" He doesn't seem to have any intention of letting me go so I'm content to just stay here. He won't remember this tomorrow anyway.

"Craig and Tweek are actually gay." The thought comes to my mouth before I can register it in my head.

"No way, dude, I thought Japanese girls were just drawing gay stuff about them?" Oh right, that's why they were 'together'.

I shake my head against his shoulder. "Well, yeah, but Tweek said he and Craig are like, kissing and junk. And Craig has this thing where he looks at Tweek whenever the poor guy bites his nails or something." I remember the piercing gaze Craig shot our way at the practice I watched.

Stan chuckles to himself. "I guess we have them beat."

The comment makes me blink and I attempt to shy away from him, but his grip tightens just enough to tell me that's not an option. "Stan…" I don't know what I'm trying to communicate.

He lets me pull back just enough to see his suddenly sullen blue eyes. The veneer of alcohol doesn't mask the heartbreak he must be feeling right now. He leans down and our lips meet.

My heart pounds loudly in my chest, so loud I worry he can hear it, but there are other things to be focusing on. Stan's lips are soft, they taste like barbecue chips and vodka. But there's another flavor there, I can't place it, I decide it's just what Stan tastes like. I press into him experimentally and he doesn't shy away, he's kissing me back hard. One of his hands is at the back of my head, holding me in place.

Something in my mind is telling me not to do this, to stop this from happening because we're both drunk and Stan's suffering from a break up. But my heart's telling me to keep going. This is everything I've ever wanted from Stan, save for the alcohol and drugs. My hand between us fists at his shirt and his free hand rests on the small of my back. I'm so enthralled in kissing him that my chest starts to hurt and I have to push him away, panting. "F-Fuck…"

"Was that good?" His voice is still a slur, but it's husky and wanton.

I nod, taking deep breaths. "You're really drunk. You don't know what you're doing." The sick and twisted part of me that liked being his sex toy enjoyed that though.

He smiles. "So?" Without another word he's on me, rolling me onto my back and pinning me beneath him. "Tell me if you wanna stop." He whispers in my ear before biting the lobe, I shiver.

I push again at his chest, my resolve not wavering so easily. "We shouldn't do this." My words are unconvincing, but I don't know if he can tell.

"Kyle..." He sounds so sad, almost like when his parents separated. "Can I, please?" His words are still slurred and my brain is warring between yes and no. I finally concede and Stan's smile returns, a genuine one, not just an inebriated one. "It'll feel good, promise~" His lips make way for my neck.

I'm already hard, not at all deterred by alcohol. His leg is in my crotch as he's teasing my neck. I grind against him and he reciprocates my pressing his thigh against me. "Fuck…" I groan while his fingers make short work of my button-up. He lifts, tugging me by my undershirt so the dark green falls away and I'm sitting with him straddling my leg.

Stan doesn't say anything, just lifts my shirt and my arms rise reflexively, like I've been here before. I pull the white cotton from my body, he follows suit with the jersey. I catch a whiff of Wendy's perfume from when she was wearing it. The scent snaps me back for a second. "Sta-" The instant my mouth opens he assaults me again, that sweet taste of Stan invades my mouth anew now that his tongue is pushed past my lips. He claims me as his and I let him, the thirteen year old inside me is cheering.

My body is heating up, blood pulsating through my groin rather than my brain. He pushes me gently to my back, our kiss never breaking. His hands are on the buckle of my jeans, letting it loose. I kick off my shoes in preparation. This feels wrong, but every cell in my body is screaming for his touch so my moral compass is pushed to the side. I want to enjoy this.

I feel his hands at the hem of my jeans and my hips lift. He tugs my pants and boxers off with little resistance and then proceeds with his own. I take this moment to realize I'm naked in front of Stan for the first time since we were kids. Naked and hard as a rock. He's much clumsier getting his own pants off since he has to maneuver about, but before I can register it in my head, he's back on top of me.

He bites my neck and I jerk against him, our crotches collide. Shit, he's hard too, he really wants to do this. We both groan, his muffled by my skin. He nibbles up along my jaw until he crashes his lips to mine again. My hands finally act, coming to rest at either side of his neck and tug him closer. He rests his body weight on me, I can take it. Every dip and curve of his torso runs against my own. His heat makes me shiver.

He lifts up, receiving a whine from me, but he chuckles. "Impatient." He gets between my legs, hiking them up on his shoulders. I know where this is going, I've seen this happen in porn. Why does he know how this works though?

"Stan." Some semblance of my sanity returns, more afraid for my safety.

He lets his hand trace my torso, his touch is electric, sending surges up my spine. "You're so pretty, Ky." He blinks dazedly and then spits into his hand. He rubs saliva on his cock and then positions himself over me.

I should stop him, I really should. But that little green monster that hates Wendy is doing backflips now that it thinks Stan's choosing me over her and I listen to its influence.

Stan's hips rear up and the head of his length meets my hole. I try not to clench, that'll only make it worse. He gives a push and I wince. He kisses me again to distract me and then moves his hips. I spread around him, crying out into his lips in pain. It fucking hurts. There's been no preparation so I'm goddamn tight. I try to relax, but he presses in further. "Mmph-fuck!" I have to pull from our kiss to finally let out the word that searing pain is forcing out of me.

He takes the opportunity of my outburst and returns to my neck, sucking my flesh hard. My body wriggles beneath him from the mix of pleasure and pain. He lurches forward when he decides I've rested enough and I wince. It's gradually hurting less and less, but that's not saying a lot. "Do you want me to stop?" He whispers in my ear.

My moral compass can almost click on and say 'yes', but I find my head shaking no and he continues. Our hips finally meet again with his cock rested snugly inside me. I take shaky breaths, willing myself to relax around him and be accommodating.

He moves and my wince tells him it's still not time for that yet. My buzz is starting to wear off, but I'm too drunk on lust to want this to end. He's finally inside me, something I've wished for since I was fourteen. I involuntarily clench at the thought and he groans, producing a sharp little thrust into me for revenge. His cock trips something and I spasm, moaning. My throbbing length is leaking from whatever happened.

"Let me know if you don't like it." He's drunk off his ass and still cares about me. Fuck. What am I doing to myself? What am I doing to him?

This should stop. I keep saying that, but I do nothing to make good on it. Do I really want it to stop? If he's going to regret it in the morning like I think he will, then no, I really don't want to stop.

His hips retreat and then shove back in. This motion continues a few more times as he sets up the pace. I'm leaking like a broken faucet and all I can do is groan beneath him. He offers little more in the ways of affection except for a few more kisses or bites here and there. I think he's trying to focus on fucking me without causing me serious pain.

Every once in a while he'll push in that extra bit and make me squirm. The familiar feeling I get that's usually accompanied by these scenes in my head arises in my gut. "Stan, I'm close." My knuckles turn white as they fist into the bedding beneath us. My warning comes too late before I cum all over myself. There are white streaks up my stomach and torso.

His thrusts grow more feverish and before too long he freezes. A new warmth is rising in my belly. He's cumming inside me. Shit. He doesn't even do that in my most erotic of fantasies. "Stan." I try his name for a third time.

He starts to deflate and pulls from me. I'm going to be sore as hell tomorrow. He crawls over me and lies back in the spot he was in before we stripped. "Was that good?" He's so innocent after just taking his best friend's virginity.

I don't have much of a frame of reference. "Y-Yeah…" I try to process what just went on, but I'm left with more questions than answers.

He's back against me, snuggling into my neck. "That was fun." He's still pretty plastered. "We should do it again."

"Go to sleep, Stan." My tone is caring, if not still out of breath. He takes my advice and falls asleep in the crook of my neck. I remain awake for a few minutes longer, the thoughts and images of the last few minutes still playing through my head. Would he remember this tomorrow? Part of me hopes not. The part of me that hopes he does is also praying for him to take me in his arms, mostly sobered and fuck me again. The optimistic part hopes Sober Stan will make our next time last so I can take in every detail of our bodies ramming together. He wants Stan to tell me he loves me, and not just in a friend way. I fall asleep before Realistic Kyle can rear his ugly head and point how hopeless that is.

* * *

 **KeruKeru: Thanks for reading chapter two! I really hope you guys are enjoying it so far. I know a lot has happened in just two chapters, but it's supposed to for the story I want to tell between Stan and Kyle. Also, thank you to my first reviewers: MelancholyDusk and L (anonymous). Waking up to your guys' reviews inspired me to get this chapter written so quickly! Leave a review and let me know, I'm always looking for constructive criticism to make my writing better!**

 **Also, I want to make a few clarifications: Stan does have asthma as in one episode Cartman steals his inhaler. The location of Token's house is based on its location in** _ **South Park: The Stick of Truth**_ **because that has the only map of South Park ever made by the show's creators. And Bunny is a super adorable pairing.**


	3. Cuz a Token Party Does Stop

**KeruKeru: Apologies ahead of time, this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous two have been! Not by a whole lot, mind you, but still shorter. Anyway, please enjoy!**

* * *

3\. Cuz a Token Party Does Stop!

Sunlight trickles in from the guest room's window and wakes me with a start. I don't feel drunk like I assumed I would, but I'm still groggy, a weird kind of groggy I can't place. My body kind of aches. My eyes open and the room isn't familiar. It's not mine, it seems classier than mine, actually. Oh right, I'm in Token's house. That's why it seems more upscale. There's nobody else in the room despite my vague memory of there being someone the night before.

There's a dull pain in my temples, but nothing major. I didn't drink that much. The other side of the bed seems mussed, someone _was_ there, but it's just me now. I try to sit up but the instant I put pressure on my ass I wince. Why the fuck does it hurt? Oh shit…

Images from last night come roaring back. Stan's lips on mine, us stripping, my ankles over his head. And the feeling of him inside me. _"Tell me if you wanna stop."_ The memory makes me instantly hard, but I will it away as I try to gather my bearings. Stan was plastered. Nowhere near as bad as I've seen him before, but still completely out of his right mind. This is so fucked up.

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. There's no questioning what happened last night was real because my butt wouldn't be as sore as it is otherwise. But… I can't help this giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I got to have sex with Stan. It was clunky and nowhere near what I'd ever imagined our first time to be, but still. God, what the hell's wrong with me?

I run a hand through my hair, clearly out of place given the previous night and I regret not just wearing my hat to the party. It's starting to curl in odd ways and I have no means to get it back under control. Whatever, I can't imagine anyone else who stayed the night is looking any better, except maybe Bebe. She always seems to be able to keep herself together even after nights where she's at her worst.

Hair aside, I can't help thinking about Stan. He probably woke up, realized what happened and got the fuck out. I don't blame him for it either. Would it be considered rape? I mean, Stan was the one on top, but I was supposed to be the responsible one and I just let it happen. Did I take advantage of him? No, I can't think like that, it's too much on my plate when I already have too much shit to try and sort out.

My green shirt from last night is beneath me, crumpled and wreaking of sex. At least someone will think I had a good time instead of an anxiety-inducing one. The rest of my clothes are folded neatly on the night stand next to me. Did Stan do that? Even the bottle I remember being on the floor is gone, presumably returned to its place from the night before. He cleaned up. Was I really that dead to the world?

I check my phone, it's a little after nine in the morning. No texts from Stan either. Maybe he just woke up, went home and fell back asleep. It wouldn't be the first time. Who am I kidding? He woke up, realized his mistakes and ran, just like I knew he would. At least on some level I got what I wanted out of last night.

I dress, still a bit dazed as the button-up comes over my shoulders. I can't get my mind off of last night. Stan was so… caring. Drunken lust aside, he really seemed like he knew what he was doing. I mean, I've always been told that alcohol is like truth serum. Does he, on some level, really want me like that? I'm probably just over-analyzing it. He was probably sad and horny and with our previous arrangement drunkenly thought it would be okay for us to fuck. _"That was fun."_ The memory makes my stomach fill with butterflies. On some level he enjoyed it, so there's that.

If he enjoyed it though, where is he? Shouldn't this be the point where we wake up naked together and come to the same realization that last night was the start of some cheesy new relationship that we both have wanted since we were kids? Ugh, maybe I've let Stan show me too many of his romantic comedies. At least I can't get pregnant because I distinctly remember him cumming inside me.

I leave the guest bedroom and look for the nearest bathroom to make sure my hair's at least somewhat presentable. As I approach the bathroom, however, I hear the familiar "Oh hamburgers". Butters is staring in the mirror, craning his neck to eye the big purple splotches that certainly weren't there last night. "You have fun last night, Butters?"

My voice startles him, but he doesn't turn, he just eyes my reflection in the mirror. "Oh, well, morning Kyle." His usually cheery disposition and voice are semi-clouded in worry. "Uh, yeah… I guess you could say I had fun…" He knows what the 'fun' is in reference to.

I make my way into the marble-decorated room and look over his neck, there are a number of hickies left. "You never really struck me as someone who got it on at parties." My words are only in jest. As I speak, I turn the water on to wash the gross, sticky feeling of slept-in sweat off my face and to get a bit of water into my hair to at least somewhat shape it back to normal.

Butters' fists rub together audibly. "Are they really that noticeable?" I don't want to make him more self-conscious, but I nod. He sighs in exasperation. "My parents are gonna ground me the second I get home."

As annoying as Butters' sunny attitude can be, you can't help but feel for the kid. His parents are assholes who barely let him just be himself. The real miracle in the family is that he remained so caring, sweet and innocent and not a cynical douche like the rest of us. "No offense, but what girl did you find to do that to you?"

His face reddens at 'girl' and he immediately averts his eyes from the mirror. "It… It wasn't a…" His voice becomes a whisper. "A girl…" I blink at his reflection, astonished. I really shouldn't be so surprised, Butters has always been a bit on the fruity side, not that I'm one to judge. It's just still a bit of a shocker.

"Who…?" Then it hits me. Kenny's affections toward him the night before, calling him 'Leo'. Even his own parents still call him Butters. In hindsight his nickname is weird given his real name is Leopold, but anyway. "Kenny?"

He nods sheepishly. "D-Don't tell, Kyle! Kenny made me sw-swear!" He's trying to hide his face with his hands. "I don't want him sore at me too!" He's getting hysterical.

I place a calm hand on his shoulder. "Butters, breathe, I'm not exactly one to judge on the front of who likes dicks and who doesn't."

He lifts his head, eyes bleary. "Wha-… What do you mean?" Oh, Kenny, Stan and Wendy were the ones that knew. It feels like everyone does, but I guess they _are_ my everyone.

"Dude, I'm gay. I'm not gonna make fun of you or Kenny for- ngh!" He has me instantly wrapped in a tight hug.

"Oh thank you, Kyle! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" I can't really think what else to do so I pat his back comfortingly while he calms down. This is certainly not how I thought my day was going to start. Granted, last night wasn't how I expected yesterday to end, so there's that too. "Gosh, Kyle, did _you_ have fun last night?" His question brings me back and he lets go.

I pull down the collar of my shirt and there, plain as day, is a purple splotch left from last night. Fuck. There really is no doubt it all happened. My pale skin turns pink the instant I spy it. "Shit…" Well that'll be an interesting story when I get to school on Monday. Maybe I can cover it with a scarf now that the weather is starting to cool. "Is Stan still here?" It's not as much of a change of subject as Butters thinks it is.

"I don't think so. I haven't seen him since last night when you and he…" Fuck, even Butters can figure out what happened. Or at least, where the hickey came from. I really do need to hide it. "Did Stan…" He doesn't need to finish the question.

"Just… Just don't worry about it." I know, it's unfair for me to make him talk about Kenny and not to give him the same curtesy, but fuck you. It seems to quiet him anyway.

He observes me in the mirror for a second but doesn't continue his questions. "I sure hope these heal quick or else my folks are gonna go ballistic." He presses at the bruises. "The last time Kenny sucked my neck I… I got sent to my room for a whole month." Oh, that's what that punishment was from. "They didn't believe me when I said the vacuum cleaner attacked me." He shifted nervously on his feet.

"You tried to blame it on the vacuum?"

"Well yeah! That's what Kenny said to do! I forgot that our vacuum doesn't have a hose though…" He wilts at his own mistake and I can't help but chuckle.

I offer a pat on the back. "You could come stay with me for a few days, at least until they heal. Just tell your parents we're studying together." I would suggest he stay with Kenny, but that would be a bad idea given the state his family is in. "My parents love you and my mom can always use a hand in the kitchen." Plus I have the sinking feeling that Stan won't be over for a while. He brightens at that, trademark smile returning.

"You really mean it?" I nod and I fear another bear hug, but he wraps me in a softer one, one I can actually breathe through. "You're the best, Kyle!"

I pat his back again before he lets me go. "Don't worry about it, dude."

The smell of bacon starts to waft in through the open door and we agree to follow it. The stink of booze and marijuana still lingers in the air, but its faint compared the delicious scent of frying bacon. A few of last night's partygoers are still sacked out on the floor in various positions and areas of Token's home. Some are staggering out while others are being roused slowly into their hangovers.

Token Black is busy at his family's stove, platers next to him full of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and plenty of toast. "Morning guys, you hungry?" Token is a very devoted host. He always cooks breakfast for those who remain overnight. Butters and I both nod. "Alright, there are plates over there." He points to a stack of flatware.

We each grab a plate and are served decent helpings of the eggs and breakfast meats. I only realize then how little I'd eaten as my stomach gargles for the food before me. Food in hand, we pick our way through Token's home until we come across a clearly very hungover Kenny McCormick. He is sporting a few hickies himself, small ones, but if he knows about them, he isn't fretting over them like Butters. A mug of coffee is at his lips when we take our places next to him.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty!" He snickers at me. I'm not usually one to stay the night at a party so he probably thinks something happened. Not that he'd be wrong. "I take it you got lucky too?" He knows I've seen Butters' neck.

I just roll my eyes, trying not to blush and wolf down a few forkfuls of Token's eggs. "I wouldn't call it 'luck'." I surround my last word with air quotes. To be honest, it still makes me feel a sick kind of joy that drunk Stan wanted to sleep with me.

Butters is quietly nibbling on a slice of bacon when Kenny leans over and kisses his cheek affectionately. "Morning, Leo." His tone is much sweeter where Butters is concerned and it makes the platinum blonde flush madly.

"I thought you didn't want people to know?!" Butters' whisper is fearful, I think more so for Kenny's sake than his own.

Kenny eyes me and snickers. "Please, even if you two hadn't been talking, I think Broflovski would've figured it out by now." His hand curls around Butters' own.

I raise a brow at him. "How did you know we were talking?" Probably spying on us.

"I went up to check on Leo and heard you two." Kenny's become a master at covering his hangovers, but you can still tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the way he's avoiding sunlight. "It's the same way I know you and Marsh finally boned."

Butters turns to his fellow blonde, head tilted like a questioning puppy. "'Finally?'"

He pats Butters' hand. "It's a long story, I'll tell you about it later." That seems to pacify Butters. "Speaking of Stan, where is he?"

I sigh, my dejection evident. "He left."

Kenny blinks. "Oh, that was supposed to be a joke…" He eyes me. "Shit, Kyle, what the hell happened?"

I honestly want to let Kenny in on everything that transpired the previous night, he could probably make more sense of it than I can since drunken rendezvous are one of his areas of expertise. "I'm not entirely… sure." I'm really not. "Stan and I were talking because he was plastered. I tried to get him to talk about Wendy, he wouldn't. Then out of nowhere he just kisses me." I feel it best I don't reveal the raunchier details. "Some other stuff happened and the next thing I know I'm alone in bed and it's morning."

"What kinda other stuff?" Butters' innocent curiosity is getting the better of him.

Kenny smirks a little. "They fucked, Leo." Yeah, I figured he'd get it. Butters blushes at the comment and I glare at Kenny. "What? It's what happened isn't it?"

"You could try to show at least a little tact, asswipe." I grumble mostly to myself, but I know he can hear me.

"What is this 'tact' you speak of?" He shoots me another snicker, clearly any bit of sympathy he had is now gone. "But seriously, Kyle, how did it get from you two talking to fucking? I mean, I know you're not exactly in the closet, but Stan's so far in he may as well have come out the other side."

I pinch the bridge of my nose at Kenny's crassness. "For one, Stan's not gay." He doesn't believe me, I might not believe it either, but that's a separate issue. "And two, it's not really the first time we've… fooled around." I proceed to let him in on the oral sex I've provided Stan and why.

"Oh shit…" I have to hazard a chuckle because that was much like Ike's reaction to the news.

I nod. "Yeah, I think some combination of his emotions over Wendy, alcohol and our… arrangement got it in his head that us having sex was a good idea. I don't think he really knew what he was doing." Of course, his tenderness during would be enough to disprove that argument easily, best not to let Kenny in on that.

Butters is busy tracing shapes over the back of Kenny's hand with his own free one. The little green monster on my back might be watching them with hate burning in its eyes because it knows I can't have that with Stan. "That, or he actually wants to fuck you and the booze lowered his inhibitions enough to actually let him indulge."

"'Inhibitions'? 'Indulge'? Those are big words." Ah sarcasm, my old friend.

Kenny grins, probably glad to see at least an ounce of the old Kyle has returned. "Mah English teacher's helpin' me talk good." His words have a humorous Southern twang.

Butters and I both chuckle. "I don't know, do you think I'm reading too much into it? Was it just one of those drunken mistakes we'll forget about eventually and pretend like it never happened?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or just what you're hoping to hear?"

I huff. "I know what you're gonna say either way so just lay one on me."

Kenny nods. "The way I see it, you two are so gay for each other you don't even realize how gay you actually are." Such eloquence from Kenny McCormick. "You've both clearly got something neither of you wants to discuss and it finally reared its head last night." For being exceedingly hungover, he's making sense.

"If we both wanted it, then why is _he_ not here?" I could answer that question easily enough. "It's not exactly a sign that we're meant to be."

Kenny nods, almost sagely. "He's probably freaking the fuck out, same as you. Just give him time to calm down."

I guess that's obvious. I really shouldn't underestimate Kenny's intelligence, he's much smarter than we give him credit for, even if his grades don't reflect it. "Whatever." I've been reduced to poking and prodding at the eggs on my plate. This conversation has ruined my appetite. Butters is resting his head on Kenny's arm now. "Okay, we've talked about my fucked up life. When the hell did this start?" I point to my cuddling friends.

Kenny chuckles and Butters blushes. "It was a little while ago. Around Leo's birthday." I need to get used to the fact Kenny is calling him by his first name. "He finally let me get him high." Butters is trying to cuddle his face into Kenny's arm to hide his red cheeks. "He took one puff off my bong and went all loopy. He started to panic about his parents and the accident when he used to tap dance." Kenny's hand noticeably tightens around Butters'. "To calm him down, I couldn't really think of anything and just kissed him."

"We did more than that!" His head shoots up from Kenny's shoulder. The latter is snickering to himself. "Kenny got my neck all covered in hickies then too and that's when I got grounded!

My brow furrows in concern. "Your parents grounded you on your birthday?" The more details I learn of this punishment, the worse it sounds.

"Well… no. I hid it for a couple days, but they thought it was suspicious I was wearing a scarf in the middle of September." His hands left Kenny's, fists rubbing together out of nerves. "They were real sore…"

Kenny plants a soft kiss on the nervous boy's cheek. He's so caring and sweet with Butters. Why didn't I notice this sooner? "To make up for getting him grounded, I visited him every day. Snuck in his window."

Butters bit at his lip, seeming to remember something particularly embarrassing. "Kenny told me he liked me a lot. He said I was cute."

" _Are_ cute." Kenny corrects.

"Oh uh… _am_ cute…" He's pink-cheeked but smiling goofily to himself.

"And then we boned." Kenny's words have Butters once again trying to bury himself into Kenny's arm, now groaning.

I just let out another sigh. "Romantic as always." Honestly, the image of the two of them was not one I needed in my mind.

Kenny is petting over Butters' hair soothingly. "In my defense, we did cuddle for a while after. I'd say it was pretty romantic." He combs through the platinum blonde hair.

"That first time, is that why you don't smoke, Butters?" Vague memories of their conversation last night come back to me. I'm attempting to piece together the little facts I know about their relationship.

He nods against Kenny's arm, almost letting out a sort of purr when said boy combs just above his ear. "He's really sensitive." Kenny smirks, more to himself than to me. I don't think he's speaking in terms of emotional sensitivity.

I just shake my head. "Your compulsive need to overshare is much appreciated."

"You're welcome." He's obviously proud of himself, still petting Butters' like a little kitten.

I sit for a moment in silence, only ever interrupted by the pleasured little sounds emanating from Butters. "So, do you think I should talk to him?"

Kenny stops for only a second, but continues his petting. "No shit, Sherlock. Best to wait until he comes to you though." That's a good plan, maybe then I can figure out something to say.

* * *

So I wait. Days go by. I thought it would just be him avoiding me that weekend, but as soon as we got to school that Monday, it was clear we still weren't talking. He switched seats in all the classes we shared together. He eats with his football team. People might think it's weird that he can totally avoid me like this, especially given our relationship. It's incredibly easy. At least it seems easy for him. Whenever we pass each other in the halls, he looks away. Any texts I send him go unanswered. For being two best friends who lived next door to each other, it's like we never met at all the way this is going.

Butters stayed with me for those few days until his hickies disappeared and I started hanging around him and Kenny more. The two mostly used me to bypass Butters' parents and be together, which is fine by me. They're cute together and they never treat me like a third wheel, always including me. I think they feel kind of sorry for me. Kenny says he's tried getting Stan to talk multiple times, but Stan just doesn't want to hear it. I don't like Kenny getting in the middle though.

Even Wendy is concerned about us. The first day she found Kenny seated between her and I with Stan in the back, I had to make up some excuse about why we were fighting. We aren't even fighting and I really don't need her knowing what his avoidance of me is about. She can tell when I'm lying, but she never presses me for more information.

All three of them can see the effect Stan's freeze out is having on me. I have a short temper, shorter than usual and it shows. Whenever they ask about Stan, I snap at them for it. I know they're genuinely concerned, but I can't help it. I'm waiting for him to come to me, like Kenny said. I feel bad I made Butters cry once, but he just kept pestering me. I think he knows I'm not mad at him. I hope he knows. I really don't need Stan _and_ Kenny avoiding me. Stan is too much of a blow to my mentality as is.

Now I'm just sitting in our living room. The TV's on, but I'm not really watching it. The lack of sleep has my eyes outlined by deep, dark rings. I take back what I said before. I would gladly go back to just sucking his dick, at least we could still pretend we weren't anything more than friends. I wouldn't be completely dejected from losing my best friend over something so stupid. The initial joy from our romp wore off a while ago and now it's replaced with a knot in my stomach whenever I so much as glance at anything that reminds me of Stan. It's like a fucking break up and I'm a mess.

My mom enters, I think she's figured out I'm not in a normal state of being. At least not a normal state of being for me. "Bubeh, what's the matter? You've been so down in the dumps lately." She sits herself next to me and I just bury myself in Stan's hoodie. Yeah, it makes my stomach wind in knots, but it makes me feel comfy and warm. "Kyle, come on." She tugs the fabric down so she can see my face. "Your father are worried about you."

"It's nothing, mom." She's tried this multiple times over the past few weeks, but every time I just get her off the subject of me, usually by bringing up some completely bogus protest idea for her.

She gives me a stern look. Oh god, it's the 'gripe glare', shit, I'm dead. "Kyle, we have seen you do nothing but mope around this house for weeks! Do you really expect me to believe that nothing's bothering you?" I try to resist her eyes, turning back to the TV. "Kyle, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

I make sure my eyes are full of pure venom when they return. She's not the only one with a look that can kill. "I'm fine, mom, just leave me alone." Dammit, I'm fucked.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me, young man!" Her eyes obtain that mix of maternal anger and disappointment. "You haven't been this broken up since you and Stan last fought! What could-…" She cuts off, the heat in her eyes immediately softening at the realization. Shit. "Are you and Stan fighting?"

God, is it really that obvious that all my problems revolve around Stan? I mean, come on! "No, we're not fighting…" I'm not lying either. "Something happened and… we're just not talking right now." I want to be vague because I can already hear my mother's 'what, what, WHAT' if I ever tell her what really happened.

Our death glare match is over, her hand coming over mine. "Bubelah, why aren't you talking?" Sometimes I wish my mom didn't care so much. I wish she could be more like Stan's mom. Stan's mom is wonderful and she's never pushy like mine.

"It's not important why. Something happened and every time I try to text him or anything, he ignores me." I take a deep breath because I'm done crying over this. I spent too many of those days curled up in bed already. "He avoids me at school, he's even moved seats in all of our classes."

"Oh Bubeh…" She pulls me against her in a warm, motherly hug. "I know you and Stan can figure this out. You two have been through tougher scrapes than whatever you're in now, I'm sure." She's not exactly wrong, we've been through some seriously deadly stuff.

I let myself accept the hug before tugging away lightly. "I hope you're right… I've been waiting for him to come to me, you can see how well that's worked."

"Kyle, I think you need to go and speak to Stan, sort this all out." Of course, the maternal advice. "A cell phone just isn't the way to go about talking out a problem and if Stan won't come to you, then you go to him." She plants a loving kiss to my cheek.

I cringe, mostly in jest. "Thanks, mom." Maybe my mother's not so bad after all.

"Any time, bubelah." She rises from the couch and makes her way into the kitchen. As I make my way to the door and work at getting my shoes on I hear her from the kitchen. "Kyle? Isn't today Stan's birthday?" She must be reading off the calendar.

Shit, I book it upstairs and find Stan's Captain America shirt, folded perfectly the same way it was shipped. I completely forgot it was even October, much less the 19th. This was almost the first birthday of Stan's I forgot.

I never bothered to wrap his gift. I dig through the hall closet where we keep all of the holiday and birthday wrappings and decide on a blue-striped bag with white tissue paper. Okay, it looks nice. That should do. "Thanks mom!" I call from the door on my way out. It closes before I can get her response.

Stan is only next door so it's not even a bother to walk there. Why didn't I do this before now? Oh right, because I'm a pussy. I'm also still wearing his hoodie and a pair of sweats. At least I showered this morning. No matter how shitty I feel, I always make time for a shower.

My fist raps on the Marsh's door. I wait a few seconds with no answer. I press the white button next to it and hear a familiar ring. Today's Sunday, Stan should be at home, there's no football practice today. I can hear someone padding to the door and then the deadbolt and chain locks coming undone.

"Can't you read th-… Oh, it's you." Stan is the one who answers. He looks like shit. He hasn't shaved in days, black stubble clear, he's sporting the same dark circles under his eyes that I am and his hair's in disarray. He's just in an old T-shirt and the bottoms that match my Terrance & Phillip sleep shirt. Damn, I forgot they were a matched set. "What do you want, Kyle?" I can't really tell if he's angry, his voice is just monotone.

I blink, still examining him. "I… I just wanna talk, dude." He makes no motion to let me in. "Can we talk inside?"

He makes no immediate move, but eventually relents and moves aside for me to enter. "In my room." It's all he says as he locks the door and makes way for the staircase. I follow him to his room.

The scent of stale beer is evident, there are a few empty Pabst bottles on his dresser next his Xbox. He must be stealing them from his dad. He's not drunk, which is good news at least.

"Alright, what did you want to talk about?" Is it really not clear what I want to discuss?

I set the gift bag down, noting his curiosity, but I'm not ready to give it to him yet. "I want to talk about why you've been avoiding me."

He frowns, almost like he's taken aback. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Cut the shit, Stan. You've moved seats, you don't sit with Kenny and I at lunch, you ignore my texts, what the hell am I supposed to think is happening?" There's a little more rage in my voice than I intend, but it's been building for a while, I think it's necessary. "Not to mention you just left after the party." My arms cross over my chest. "I thought we were friends." That's my favorite card to play.

He runs a hand through his hair, it's a little greasy, he hasn't showered in a couple days. His eyes come into a glare. "If we're such good friends, why didn't you tell me about Wendy?"

"What?"

"Wendy! She told me you knew she was breaking up with me! If we're friends why didn't you ever warn me?" His hands are balled into fists. "Just a simple 'hey Stan, your girlfriend is planning to rip your heart out of your chest, wanted to give you a heads up' would've been nice!"

I feel a little guilty about that, still. "She asked me not to tell you! As close as you and I are, I'm not going to break a promise to her!" Especially with what we were doing behind her back.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, some fucking friend you are."

My face heats up in anger. "Like you have any right! What the fuck do you care if Wendy broke up with you, I'm the one who's been blowing you for the last few months!" Hopefully nobody's in the room next door, though I could care less. "You've been cheating on her and now it's suddenly _my_ fault that you feel shitty over losing her? Where was this concern before?" I may have hit a bit below the belt, but I'm pissed.

"Fuck you." He grumbles and opens the door. "Get out Kyle, we're done talking about this."

My own fists ball up. "No we're not! Dammit, Stan, I'm not walking out and letting you continue your little bitch fit over Wendy!" I push the door out of his hand and let it slam, he makes no movement to reopen it. "I've been losing my mind for weeks trying to figure out why you won't talk to me. And just like always, you're avoiding the fucking problem." For a second I wonder if I'm the problem. "Do you even remember what happened at the party?"

"Of course I fucking remember! That's why I can't talk to you!" I blink at him, confused. At least we're getting somewhere.

I take a breath. "What do you mean?"

He takes a step away from the door and I. I think he's trying to collect his thoughts. "I can't look at you without thinking about what I did to you." I would say that makes two of us, but I get the feeling it's worse on his end. "I mean, shit, Kyle, I fucking raped you!" The concern in his eyes is evident.

"You… You think you raped me?" For the moment, the angry fire in my belly is extinguished and the knot in my gut's loosened. "You really think… You really think you raped me?"

He blushes, seeming to be out of shame as his head lowers. "Most of what I can remember from that is just kinda shoving you around and kissing you and then…" He goes silent, but I know what he's going to say. "I woke up the next morning and fucking freaked, dude! I got my ass dressed and ran out because I was scared shitless!" His brow is furrowed in anxiety, almost reminding me of Butters.

I sigh. "Stan, you didn't rape me." I take a seat on his bed and pat the area next to me. He sits, but it's a decent distance away. Is he really that worried about this? "Look, Stan, I went to Token's party because I felt guilty about not telling you about Wendy. I remember what happened the last time you drank your sadness away and I just wanted you to be okay." I look at him, but his eyes are on the floor. "It hurt at first, yeah, but the longer we went, the better it felt. You didn't rape me, Stan. I was more worried I took advantage of you since I wasn't that drunk and didn't stop you." Not to mention my undying love for you made it all the more satisfying.

His head turns and he's examining me for any signs of fallacy. "You thought it felt good?" I blush immediately and nod. "I thought so too…" His mouth turns up in a small smile. "It was weird, being with a guy. I don't remember a lot, feeling wise, but I know I liked it, so there's that." He scoots closer to me.

"Trust me, I liked it. I would've stopped it if I didn't." I still frown a little though. "Stan, do you really hate me for not telling you about Wendy?"

His eyes go wide at my question. "What? Of course not! Kyle, I'm physically incapable of hating you for _any_ reason. I was pissed and that's part of why I drank. Really, I'm not that broken up over Wendy." His arms comes around my shoulder. "Maybe I was sad at first, but after everything happened, I forgot about Wendy all together. I was just freaked about that night and needed a reason to be angry." He smiles and ruffles my hair, much to my protest. "I fucking missed you, dude."

"Did you think I was gonna report you to the cops or something?" I peek up at him from my place under his arm.

His blush is in embarrassment this time. "Well, yeah, a little."

I chuckle at his sheepishness. "Stan, you could go on a killing spree and I'd probably be the one to hide you in my house."

"How was I supposed to know?! I didn't know what to do. I'm not good dealing with shit like this so I guess avoiding you was the best idea." His hand is at my hip now. I try to keep my face pale rather than red. "Sorry, dude." His regret is obvious.

I shake my head and elbow him gingerly. "You're forgiven." I could never stay mad at him. Especially now that he's talking to me again. "Oh shit!" I hop up immediately and find his present, offering it to him. "My mom had to convince me to come over here and it's a good thing she did because I almost forgot what today was." I plop the gift into his lap and retake my seat on the bed. "Happy Birthday!" I grin.

He blinks at the bag. "Shit, it's the 19th?" I nod. "Damn, I've been so out of it. I can't believe we haven't spoken in that long…"

"I know… Last time it happened you kept saying everything was 'shit'." We were only ten at the time and it was actually me who insisted on avoiding Stan.

He chuckles to himself. "Yeah, then you actually wanted to hang out with Cartman instead of me."

I roll my eyes. "Don't remind me. Open your gift!"

He doesn't need more convincing than that and digs into the paper. The shirt I bought is the same blue as Captain America's suit with his trademark shield in the center. "You got me a Cap shirt!" He stands immediately and sheds himself of the old T-shirt.

I try to keep myself from scanning over his torso, but it does little to distract from Stan's physique. "Well, I found the company you bought my Thor shirt from. I've had that in my room for months." I breathe a sigh of relief as he gets the shirt over his head and it fits comfortably. "I was little worried on the size."

He looks it over and smiles. "It's a perfect fit!" I'm suddenly wrapped in his arms. The sense of warmth reminds of that night at Token's and makes me shiver, but I happily return the affection.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? I love it!" He sits back down, still ogling the garment and grinning like an idiot. "It's the best! Thanks, Ky!"

I chuckle, shaking my head at his childish excitement. "Don't mention it, dude."

He finally looks up, apparently some kind of idea just came to him. "Hey, we never settled our little _Halo_ rivalry." He smirks at me.

I snicker back. "It's your birthday, but I'm not going easy on you." He stands and goes to set up his Xbox. I can't help but to look at his ass from my place. What? He has a nice body, sue me. "You still wear those?" I'm talking about the pajamas.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. We agreed you'd wear the top and I'd wear the bottoms, remember?" Of course I remember. "Still can't believe they had them in adult sizes."

I feel the same way. We had to get them in Stan's size though so the shirt's baggy on me. "Terrance and Phillip are multi-generational!" Honestly, we haven't watched the show in years. We bought the set more for nostalgia's sake.

He chuckles, bringing me a controller as the game boots on his TV. "Alright, first to win five rounds takes it."

"Have fun with your zero." I snicker at him, challenge evident in my voice. We commence.

It's a dead heat each time to be able to find the plasma sword first. Quite often I'm faster because I've memorized nearly every multiplayer map in the game. Then it's just a fit of hacking and slashing away at Stan's lives. He gets in a few kills and even finds the sword a couple times before I can get to it, but I'm just a quicker draw with the trigger button. His tongue is out like when he draws and it makes it me smile as I slice through his character. The final score comes to me winning five rounds and him only winning one. I kind of let him win that one, an extra birthday present. I know I said I wouldn't be, but who cares?

The sun's starting to go down by the time we're done. His head droops in disappointment at the screen, showing the final tally. "Fiiiiiiiiiine, you're better than me at _Halo_."

"Glad you finally admit it." I can't help but to gloat.

He elbows me. "Shut it, Broflovski." I just grin at him. He soon attains this sort of pensive look on his face. What's he thinking about? "So, about earlier…"

Not this again. "Stan, we already forgave each other. I'm not mad at you and you're not mad at me." I get the feeling that's not what he's referring to though.

"No, no, no. About… about what happened at Token's party? The sex? You said you liked it, right?"

My eyebrow raises instantly, a blush rising as well. "Yeah… and you liked it too… Or you think you did." I scan over his face, getting nothing from it. "Stan, what do you want to ask me?

He takes a breath as if preparing himself for some momentous question. "I was thinking, maybe we could do it again?"

"What?!" He wants us to have sex again? What the hell?!

He clearly expected my initial reaction. "Just hear me out. We're pretty close as is. I mean, you were sucking me off for a while." I curse myself in my own mind for ever agreeing to that, for sure. "Well, Wendy and I are done, so, maybe you and I could actually, like… start fucking?"

I just stare at him for a second, baffled. I think my mouth's agape too. "You want us…" I can't believe I'm about to say this. "You want us to be friends with benefits, for real?"

" _Super best friends_ with benefits." He smiles, proud of himself apparently.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a habit I recall actually gaining from him. "Stan, you can't be serious. You're not even gay!"

He seems to think over my statement and nods. "I really don't know what I am at this point. Just put me down for questioning." He wraps an arm around my shoulder again, it's a bit more awkward than comforting with what he just asked me. "We're both guys, we both have needs. We've already done it. Why not?"

To be honest, the only reason I can come up with is my feelings for him and god knows that's not coming out yet. "I… I don't know why not." We've already been intimate with each other, despite that night being our first time actually having sex so it's not as if we're strangers to each other's bodies. "Are you sure you want this? You've given it enough thought?"

He nods. "Of course I did!" That's a lie. "Look, Kyle. If we do this and you want to stop, we stop, then we never mention it again." As if it's that easy to just let that go. "I promise."

I can't believe I'm actually fucking considering this… "Well…" I really shouldn't agree. There's not going to be guilt over us cheating, but it's only going to mess with my head all the more over how Stan feels about me. I guess I should realize he doesn't want a real relationship given he just said 'friends' and not 'boyfriends'. I shouldn't agree. "Okay, I guess we can do it."

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 **KeruKeru: Alright, so I have more of the fic planned out, which is good for me and hopefully good for you guys too because it means I'm more prepared to get these chapters out! Thanks to Blueneko8 for your review on the previous chapter! I don't know if I'd call the story 'heartbreaking' just yet though. Also thanks to MelancholyDusk, your PMs are always fun! Please favorite/follow this story or myself and don't be afraid to leave me a review to let me know what you thought! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys!**

 **Also a quick note! The idea of them sharing a set of pajamas is actually based on a picture someone drew on Deviantart of them sleeping together, each wearing a piece of the outfit (Kyle with the shirt, Stan with the pants). I forget the illustrator's name and for the life of me I can't find the picture again.**


	4. Bruises Inside and Out

**KeruKeru: What's this? An update that's NOT in the middle of the night?! Oh my god, what is this world coming to?! I hope you all enjoy!**

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4\. Bruises Inside and Out

I have to say, I'm shocked. For many reasons, honestly. The first of which is that since October my self-hatred for agreeing to Stan's 'super best friends with benefits' plan has only reared its head a couple times and we've already reached the last couples weeks of November. We're close to our Thanksgiving break. Well, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I think Stan can sense when I'm getting too into my own head because that's usually the time he gets randy and starts feeling me up in preparation for another fuck.

The sex is on that list of surprising things. It's due to the fact that drunk Stan fucking is nearly identical to the way sober Stan fucks. Sober Stan is a bit more caring and knows that I need to be loosened up some before we get to it though. He's even getting better at returning the favor if I should blow him or jerk him off. He's still not super great, mostly opting to jerk me off. I think he's a bit more apprehensive about his sexuality than he lets on despite the fact he's fucking a guy in the ass. I don't let it bother me though because I know he's working through stuff the same way I am.

Something else shocking? Well, we've somehow become more inseparable than we already were. The time apart coupled with our hormone-crazed teenage libidos did a number on us. We're attached at the hips and that's not even when they're ramming against each other. I love it since I get to be with him more than I already thought possible, but at the same time, I might enjoy it more if we were actually a fucking couple. At least then I could kiss him and touch him without it having to lead somewhere sexual.

I wondered where my self-pity ran off to, I guess he's back now. I know I say I shouldn't do a lot of things. But this is probably the thing I shouldn't have done the most. Accepting Stan's offer is wrecking me. The sex distracts me enough that I don't need to think about it too often, but when it gets down to it, I think I might be more miserable than I was before.

He doesn't get it. He wouldn't get it. He thinks we can just fuck and everything will be fine. But it won't. We can't be fine. _I_ can't be fine. This isn't what I ever wanted of our friendship, no matter what my lust-clouded brain would have you believe. If we were fucking in my imagination, it was because he wanted me to be his.

I hate to say it, but our 'friendship' or whatever it is, isn't that far from being an actual romantic relationship and that might be what's killing me the most. He doesn't leave the bed like I'd expect him to do after we're done, in fact we've taken up cuddling in the nude and napping. We're so fucking close and yet I know we'll never get there and no amount of pining over him or pretending this is what normal couples do is going to change that.

Don't mind my jaded teenage angst. I'm glad Stan chose me on that sick and twisted level. My tummy fills with butterflies whenever he touches me sensually because I can trick myself into thinking it's out of more than lust. I blush whenever it happens. He says I'm cute when I blush. I think he just likes teasing me.

Stan's using me as an experiment and our touchy-feely friendship to get around us being so gay together. I don't think he's really into guys, but it's really messing with my head how affectionate he gets with me. Ugh, I'm starting to worry myself sick again.

I swallow a Tums and follow up with a swig of water to get the chalky taste out of my mouth. I really don't need to be getting sick tonight. I'm all dressed up and ready for Stan's art show tonight.

It's not a 'real' art show. Our teacher set up an exhibit in the gym for her most promising students to showcase their best pieces for the school's faculty, invited students and a few people she wishes to extort for donations to the arts department. Stan was her first pick from what he told me. She even gave them free artistic reign on what they submitted, provided it was not an overtly-crude piece. I think Stan's description was 'no dick and no tits'.

He won't show me the sketches he's showcasing either, says they're supposed to be a surprise like the ones in his books. I really wish he would just let me in on what they are, he won't even give me a hint which is unusual for Stan even given our current relationship climate.

The event tonight is 'black tie optional'. It's supposed to seem like a real art show despite the fact our gymnasium smells like month-old sweaty socks and body odor. At least it's not football, art intrigues me even if I can't do it well myself. I still cheer for Stan when he's on the field now that I'm getting a bit more active in the football scene. But seeing his art always puts a smile on my face more so than seeing him tackle a linebacker. Imagining him hard at work on a sketch, tongue out, is much sexier to me than him panting, dripping with sweat… in nothing but a jock strap…

Shut up! Okay, maybe I have a thing for that look too! But don't get me wrong, watching him draw is sexy as hell. Probably because intelligence and sophistication turn me on as much as his sexual magnetism does. I'm not about to start over-analyzing that right now.

For tonight I've decided on a gray, long-sleeve button-up beneath a black vest. I also have a black tie and black slacks. It's a lot of black. Maybe I should hang out with Goth kids more… Nah. I can't stand cigarettes. I just want to look good for the event. For Stan.

The familiar honk lets me know my ride is here. It's Stan, of course. My parents are out to dinner while Ike's up in his room, I think. I just offer a cursory wave to the house before I'm out the door and immediately regret not wearing a jacket.

It's fucking freezing now that winter is on its way in and I have to nearly jog to Stan's truck to keep myself from chilling to the bone. I slam the creaking door shut the second I'm seated. I guess I'm not as ready for the cold as I thought I was.

"Kyle, you should wear a jacket." Stan is eyeing me with concern, not wearing a jacket himself.

I rub my hands together to generate friction. "Thanks for the advice, _mom!_ " He chuckles, shaking his head at me and gets the truck into gear. I can check him out. He's got a red, long-sleeve button-up, sans a vest. He has a black clip-on tie at his throat. I have to laugh at that. "You're how old and you still don't know how to tie a tie?"

He glares at me teasingly from the corner of his eye. "I forgot all I had were clip-ons! I didn't have time to run to the store and try to figure out how to tie one."

"You should really learn a little thing called 'time management'." I tease him.

He socks me playfully in the arm, keeping his eyes on the road as best as he can. "You should try shutting the hell up before I kick you out of my truck."

I make my lip quiver in a mock pout. "You'd throw me out into the cold world all alone, no food or water?!" Maybe I should go into acting.

He just shakes his head at me, smile gracing his perfectly kissable lips. "Fucking dork."

I nod, pleased with myself before a thought strikes me. "Why won't you tell me what the pictures are?"

Stan's silent for a moment, seeming to just be paying attention to the road, but it looks like he's considering telling me or not. "Because it's a surprise. You'll see when we get there." That's the same answer he gives every time I ask.

"Ugh, you're so secretive!" I know why he is, I'm just being over-dramatic because the suspense is killing me.

He rolls his eyes as we pull into the parking lot of the school. It's nowhere near as packed as it is during school hours, but there are a decent number of cars. "In all our years, my books are the only secret I've kept. They're not something I just let go of." He got a bit more serious with the subject than I thought he would.

I blink, is he mad at me? "Sorry… I'm just being a nosy ass. I'm really excited to see what you submitted!" I grin, hoping it'll be as infectious as I'm trying to make it.

He at least smiles and shuts off the truck now that we're in a spot. "Well, I guess we're both excited then!" His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, giving his words an innuendo.

"We're not doing that here. I've told you, your truck is too cramped." I can't stop the blush on my cheeks though with his given word play.

He laughs at my words. "I know, you're just fun to mess with." I cross my arms indignantly. "Oh stop it, Kyle. I really am excited for you to see them. I wanna know what you think." His hand finds my shoulder.

I hazard a look his way. He has that classic Stan smile. The one that makes my heart thump just a little bit faster whenever I get to see it on his face. "Why do you want my opinion? I don't know shit about art." I can feel my face burning and I'm fairly certain he can hear my heart thumping away.

He gives me the most incredulous of stares as if I've offended him. "Ky, your opinion means the world to me. I could give two shits what some art critic thinks, but if you hate them, I might as well just burn all my books."

This time I blink in surprise. "Don't do that! Then the world wouldn't get to see how skilled you are!"

Stan chuckles, squeezing my shoulder. "Then let's go inside so I can get your thoughts." His hand leaves my shoulder and he starts to get out. Then he stops for a second. "Oh yeah." He reaches into the back seat and fishes out a black suit jacket and tosses it to me. "Keep warm with that until we get to the gym."

I slip into the black fabric. It's big on me, but it works well to keep me warm as we make way for the gym. I'm a bundle of nerves. Would he really quit drawing if I didn't like it? Shit, I better like it… But what if I don't? No, I have to! He wants my honest opinion though… Fuck, there's too much pressure! God, I sound like Tweek.

We get into the gymnasium and the immediate wave of odor makes me cringe. I fucking hate PE and this is why. It's so fucking dirty in here. The people dressed semi-formally and observing different pieces of art don't make this place seem any cleaner. I offer Stan his coat back.

He slips it on and scans the group of people. There are thin, foldable walls decorated with the paintings and drawings of students. One section of the show has no walls at all, but stands with decorated vases and some sculpted figures. Our school has a surprising budget for the arts. This is another thing that surprises me. And she thinks we need _more_ funding?

"Oh, there's Miss Trumble. I'll go let her know we're here." He smiles at me as he strolls off to speak with our art teacher. She's chatting up some people I don't recognize. I think one is a student, but I can't be sure.

I feel like someone is staring at me. My eyes find a group of three students, two girls and a boy staring at me. The second I see them, they turn their heads and start giggling to each other. That's weird. Two more guys follow suit, only theirs is more of a snicker when they turn away. What the fuck is going on?

"Kyle!" I know that voice. Wendy is coming over. She's clad in a tight black pencil skirt and white blouse. Her bright red high heels clop on the ground as she strolls over. They match her lipstick. Her black hair is back in a ponytail. She always looks so sophisticated an put together.

I don't know what she's doing here though. "Uh, hey Wendy. What are you here for?"

"Huh? Oh, Bebe is in the ceramics class and she had her vase on display so she wanted me to be here to see it." She seems distraught over something, but I can't place why. "You're here to see Stan's exhibit, I presume?"

Of course I am. I wouldn't drag myself out in the cold for a bunch of random people, though seeing Bebe's vase became next on my list. "Yeah, he really wants my opinion. God knows why."

She blinks at me. "Oh… You haven't seen it yet…" Okay, what the hell?

"No… we just walked in." She's very evidently blushing. "Wendy, what's going on?"

She takes hold of my hand immediately and starts tugging me toward the other side of the walls. "You should see for yourself…" What has her so riled? I don't like this one bit. Suddenly I'd much rather be in the stands at one of Stan's games, cheering for him to tackle some guy to the ground.

I let her drag me along, if only out of morbid curiosity. "Seriously, Wendy, what the fuck's going on?" We've stopped.

"Just look." She lets my hand go and gestures to the wall we're now in front of. Stan's name is typed on a little place card. Above it are four of his sketches, all of them arranged neatly. They're all of me. I feel my face start to heat up.

One of the pictures is of me smiling. My Unshaka is on my head in its hyper-realistic glory. It's from my neck up and every detail of my face is better than I've ever seen in a mirror. I think Stan based the picture in the summer despite me wearing my hat because there is a line of freckles across the middle of my face, trailing over my nose. That only happens when I get a lot of sunlight. Okay, not that bad.

The next one I come to… I'm not really sure. It's me. I can tell by the loops in my hair. My head is down on a desk and I think I'm wearing Stan's hoodie. It seems like it's from when Stan was avoiding me, though the point of view is from my side and I know he was behind me. How good is Stan's memory to just take a snap shot like that? Again, not that bad.

The third sketch is a bit more intimate. I'm lying at one end my couch, but the point of view is from the opposite end, looking over at me. I have on the top half of Stan and I's pajamas, and a pair of shorts. We were just lounging around watching TV that day. It was after we made up and started… well. Come to think of it, I remember him drawing this one. I kept watching him with his tongue out that day and he wouldn't tell me what he was drawing, not even when he was finished. Even still it's nothing like I was expecting with Wendy's reaction.

The final picture is… oh fuck… I blanch. This picture is…far more intimate than the others. I'm on my back, shirtless. We're on my bed. The point of view is above me looking down. The sketch cuts off from my waist down, but I know I'm naked. All the covers beneath me are mussed and my hair's in disarray. I'm clearly panting in the picture, shade on my cheeks to represent my after-orgasm blush. My eyes are lidded and hazy, starting up at the viewer. I look like I was positively fucked… and damn was I.

"What the fuck…" I hear myself say it, but I can't register that I actually said the words. My brain is short circuiting. Why the fuck would he showcase that? Why the fuck would it be _allowed_?! What made him think this was a good idea without consulting me?! Was this why those students were laughing at me? Goddammit, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. What is he trying to tell me? Is he trying to tell me anything? How many people have figured out what this pictures means and who else knows? I've been pushed out of the closet, Stan too… shit.

I think I'm starting to hyperventilate because I feel Wendy grab me by the shoulder and give me a shake. "Kyle, Kyle! Snap out of it!" She slaps me.

The endless questions are knocked from head the second her hand hits my cheek and I right myself. "Uhh… thanks…"

"No problem."

I look around and I'm receiving questioning eyes from everyone, faculty, students and guests alike. Something inside me is saying they're all judging me for that picture, they all think I'm some faggot who seduces his best friend. I like having people know about us, it gets me off. That's what that pictures tells them.

"Fuck, I need to get out of here." I don't stay to hear anything from Wendy. I'll text her later and thank her for the warning, and maybe ask about Bebe's vase. But right now I need to get out. Get some air. This rotten gym scent is suddenly choking me.

I can hear Stan calling my name, but I don't stop until I'm back outside. I've retreated too far into my own head to even worry about being cold right now. "Kyle, what the hell was that about?" Stan's next to me now.

I chuckle humorlessly. "'What the hell?' You put those pictures up and _you_ ask _me_ 'what the hell'?" God I hate my angry voice. It always sounds so much meaner than I intend and I'm not even that angry! Shocked and outed, more like. I guess there's anger there too. "What the fuck, Stan?!"

He blinks, apparently in total bewilderment as to why I could possibly be mad. "What's wrong with the drawings? I thought you'd like them!"

His voice is so innocent, it cools me just enough. "Stan, they're beautiful like always…" He stares at me expecting the 'but' that's hanging in the air. "But why the fuck would you think that _one_ was okay?! You know I'm not out of the closet! Or I wasn't!"

"Oh…" Is this some kind of fucking surprise? "Look, Kyle, I didn't… I wasn't thinking. I just really… really like that picture…" I hear his shoe scuff the ground, his hands are in his pockets. He looks very much like himself as a ten year old.

God, I fucking hate this. "Why is that picture so important?" I guess I can make my peace with the outing for now since he at least seems regretful of his choice.

"I… I don't know…"

"Dammit, Stan, you're so fucking confusing sometimes!" Okay, that was definitely meant to stay in my head, but it's out now, I suppose.

His brow furrows at my words. "How am I confusing?"

Well, he asked. "All your fucking mixed signals! I don't know what's up and what's down with you anymore!"

He blinks at me in question. Is he really not getting this? "Mixed signals? Mixed signals about what?"

"About us!" My anger's boiling again now that he's trying to play dumb. I know he understands, he just wants to avoid the problem again.

"Maybe you should come back inside?" God, he's not even going to try to figure out why his behavior is bothering me? Just like Stan to try passing emotional shit off like it's nothing. "Come on." He makes way to grab me.

I step away. "No, you go back inside." I run a hand through my hair, exasperation evident, I'm sure. "Go back inside and finish your show. I need to go home and do some damage control."

"Kyle, it's gonna be fine."

My fist clenches and I worry I'm about to punch Stan for that. He really doesn't fucking get it. "Don't tell me it's going to be alright, Stan."

His hand is on my shoulder. "But it is!"

I shrug him off and glare, eyes filled with venom. "You don't fucking get it! You can play this off like the experiment that it is for you! Meanwhile, everyone's suspicions about me are basically confirmed and now I have to fucking deal with that!" Shit, my feelings are a fucking roller coaster right now. They're all like a loop-de-loop on my gut. The nausea's back. "Just go back inside, Stan. I really can't deal with this right now."

"Kyle, I-"

"Go!" I start stomping off into the parking lot. I don't have anywhere to go since Stan was my ride, but I needed a dramatic exit to accentuate my anger, both at Stan and at the situation we're now in. This is so much worse than us cheating. At least the only person who could find out then was Wendy. Now the entire fucking school knows or will know I'm gay by tomorrow morning. Most of my anxiety is around Cartman, but I'm not exactly happy facing anyone but Wendy, Kenny, Butters, Craig and Tweek. The latter two I really don't see much of though.

I shoot Wendy a text asking for a ride as I make my way to her Prius. Her response is immediate and she doesn't have me wait long in the cold. We drive to my house in complete silence. She can tell I really don't want to discuss this. I thank her for the ride and step out. She remains on the curb until I'm in the house.

The rest of the night blurs together. I make it to bed at some point and my sleep is anything but restful. If I even do fall asleep, I'm plagued with dreams of being made fun of, usually by Cartman. His shrill voice hurls things like 'fag' and 'cocksucker' at me. I wake up within minutes of the insults and toss and turn until I can somewhat get back to sleep. Another dream has those kids from the show laughing and snickering at me, only this time I've taken on the appearance of that picture. I'm naked and panting as they go about their teasing. Stan is off in the back just watching, he's not doing anything. He doesn't see anything wrong with it.

* * *

I wake with a start to the sound of my alarm. I forgot I even set it. I robotically make way for the shower and then dry myself. I don't bother with my hair and opt for my hat. It's too cold not go without it at this point. For a moment I consider Stan's hoodie, but I'm not all that happy with him right now so I slip on sweats, a t-shirt and a dark green parka that matches my hat. I grew out of my old orange one long ago, so I figured I should get one to match my unshaka and look somewhat like I know how to match colors.

It's weird being awake. I can still tell I'm angry, but it's all just kind of numbed by my intense anxiety and lack of sleep. I don't really know what to call how I'm feeling. I don't want to go to school. I could probably convince my mom I'm not feeling well and just skip today all together, but then she'd ask why I'm faking and then it'd be a whole to-do. It's really not worth it to bring her into my problems, she already knows more about Stan and I than I care to tell most people.

I don't know how I got to school. I think I drove. In fact, I did drive. The keys are jingling in my pocket. I'm just bumbling through the halls to my first class, trying to keep away from as many people as possible while also trying to keep myself hidden beneath my hat. I can hear people whispering and chuckling as I pass. I recognize one of the kids from that group of three, he's showing a few more people something on his phone. Three guesses as to what it is.

I've never realized how much people cared to talk about me, of all people. I mean, I'm not popular or anything. I'm friends with Stan and Wendy, I guess they're decently popular. But in my own right, I wouldn't say I've ever been one to stand above others. So why is this such big news?

Garrison's class is abuzz and the second I step inside, everyone is silent. Half of our former fourth grade class is staring at me, the other half is actively avoiding eye contact. It's that feeling of walking in on a conversation that was about you. I fucking hate this day already and it's barely seven thirty.

My head is on my desk, covered by my arms the instant I sit. I think I fell asleep because the next thing I know the bell is ringing for the next class and I practically sprint out of the room. My head is down, staring at the floor. I just want today to be over, but I have five more classes. I'm not a ditcher.

Art is relatively easy to sit through despite the fact I know Stan is next to me the whole time. I don't fall asleep, but I don't lift my head up either. He doesn't try to talk to me. At least he can sense when I _don't_ want to talk about anything. The bell rings and I'm up and out again.

God, it feels like everything is going so fast, but then so slow at the same time. I don't even understand it. Where is the teasing? Where's the ridicule? Everyone's just been kind of avoiding me all day. Not that I'm really complaining. Even Cartman hasn't said two words to me the entire day.

Maybe I'm over-reacting. Maybe nobody knows aside from the people that were at the show. Maybe I'm in the clear and everything's been in my head! I'm not an important person at this school, so really, why _would_ anyone care if I'm gay? I'm still the same person, they just know I like dick.

I still shut myself in the library for lunch. We're not supposed to eat in here, but I don't want to face other kids, even if they're not really as out to get me as I think they are. It's quiet and peaceful, free of the snickers I might have been imagining all day.

When I finish my lunch, I venture out into the hall. It's mostly empty, a few stragglers left. That's when I see them. Or rather, they see me.

Two members of the football team. Seniors I think, are heading my way as soon as they spot me. Fuck, what the hell do they want? I start in the opposite direction, not running because I don't want them to know I've seen them. They can smell fear, like bears.

I'm not paying attention to where I'm going because I find myself at a dead end and they're in hot pursuit. They crowd me to the wall of lockers in an instant. Shit, is this really about to happen?

"Hey Broflovski." The bigger of the two smirks at me. He's a blonde guy, white, I think he's a linebacker. "Heard about that little art show of Stan's last night." His fist finds the collar of my shirt and clenches around it, hauling me to him.

I avert my eyes, still somewhat in a daze at the fact this is really fucking happening. What kind of eighties teen drama did I walk into? "I don't know what you're talking about."

He sneers, tightening his grip on my shirt. "Oh really? That's funny since Maurice here swears he saw you there." He gestures to the black guy next to him. I recognize him immediately. Maurice was one of the two guys that sneered at me the night before. Fuck. "In fact, the entire football team has _seen_ you by now." I know what he's talking about.

I can't fight the fact that my face heats up when he mentions it. "Just let me go, dude, I'm not doing anything to you." I hate myself for blushing.

"He thinks we should let him go!" He chuckles over to Maurice who joins in. "Yeah, see, we can't really do that. Wanna know why?" Even if I did, he doesn't give me an opportunity to answer. "We can't let you go because we can't have you turning another player into a fairy like you turned Stan."

I would chuckle at that if not for the fact I was about to be hit. "Why don't you take your problem up with Stan, then? He's the one you're taking issue with."

The blonde, I want to say his name is Darrel or something, almost seems to consider this for a moment. "Nah, we need Stan because he's a pretty good player for a faggot. You on the other hand, will serve as a good reminder for anyone that thinks they can just turn the rest of us into pansy ass cocksuckers." As soon as his last words leave his mouth, I feel his fist make contact with my face. My hat falls off.

I hit the ground hard. I taste blood immediately, but I'm too disoriented to move before I get a foot to the gut. Fuck! My body contorts instantly to block my stomach, curling into a ball. Another kick, this one to my shin because they can't reach my gut. It doesn't hurt as much, but I still yelp.

Something inside has resigned itself to just accept the beating. I brought this on myself by getting into this arrangement with Stan. It's almost tranquil to feel physical pain rather than the shitty heartache I've had over Stan for years on end. I don't try to protect myself as much. I don't uncurl, but I'm not being as defensive either.

Another kick, this one to my arm as they try for my stomach once more. All of this is distracting me from worrying about Stan, from fretting over people finding out I'm gay. Whatever I felt toward Stan or the situation is gone now, replaced with real pain. I don't need to cry over Stan and his inability to love me anymore, now I have something tangible to cry over. And yeah, I am crying. The tears are burning my eyes as they continue their assault, then everything stops.

I remain curled up, body aching. I hear scuffling and then the two are gone. They stopped rather abruptly, so I don't think they meant to stop. "Are you okay?"

The voice is semi-foreign to me. I can't really tell who it is through my blurred vision. I try to wipe the tears out my eyes. My tongue is stained with that metallic taste of blood. I think I cut my cheek on my tooth when I got punched. "Stan?" Did Stan come to save me? The form in my eyes comes to focus and I have to blink to be sure. "C-Craig?!"

Craig Tucker is on his knees before me. He seems a little scuffed up, but nothing major. "What? I'm trying to help you, asshole." His hat is missing so I can see how tousled his black hair is.

I sit up, wincing immediately as the injured parts of my body scream in pain. "Did… did you save me?" He offers me his hand and tugs me up gently. I'm still somewhat speechless at the prospect.

He shrugs at my question and goes to find my hat. Then his own. I thank him for returning my Unshaka. "Come on." He gestures for me to follow and I do. He leads me into a nearby restroom and starts wetting a piece of paper towel. "They fucked up your lip." He states this while handing me the wet paper towel.

I nod, accepting it and placing it the cut I can taste on my lip. It's not too deep, once it scabs over I should be fine. "Thanks…"

He shrugs and peels my jacket off before proceeding to inspect the uncovered parts of my body. "Does this hurt?" He asks and then starts poking over my arms and my ribs.

I wince a couple time because he's found what I think will be bruises, but nothing else really hurts. "I think I'm okay, just sore." The recent shock is still fairly evident on my face.

He touches my eye and I wince. "That's gonna be a serious shiner. You should go home and ice it."

I just stare at him for a second. "Did you fight off those guys?"

He scoffs. "Yeah, they're pussies. They're second string too so they don't even really play that often."

"Thank you." I don't really know what else to say. Everything just has me really stunned right now and I'm more than a little discombobulated.

He shrugs. "Don't thank me. I owed you."

I blink in surprise. "What did I do to get in Craig Tucker's favor?" We haven't even spoken in months.

"Tweek."

The memory then rises to my head of me sitting with the spaz at their football practice, instructing him on how to communicate his feelings to Craig. "So… my advice worked?" I can't help a slight smugness, I'm a little proud of myself.

He smirks, or as close to a smirk as Craig Tucker can get. I wonder if Tweek ever sees him smile. "Yeah, he gave me this letter and said you told him to write it." He holds up an old piece of paper, it's clearly been folded and unfolded quite a few times over the past three months.

"You're both together for real, now?"

I think it might be the first time I've seen Craig smile. Granted, when I say smile, I mean the corners of his mouth turned up a nearly undetectable amount. "Yeah."

At least I could help someone's love life while mine's in shambles. "You didn't owe me anything for that." I nod to the letter in his hand.

"I did." He returns the paper to his pocket. "Now we're even."

I can't really see the correlation between helping them get together and saving my ass from two bullies. But I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I don't think I can really thank you enough." My lip has stopped bleeding, the pain is down to a minor throb.

He just shrugs. "Then don't. I told you, I settled a debt."

So if I hadn't helped Tweek he'd have just left me there to get the shit kicked out of me? What a wonderful sentiment. "Thanks."

"Stop saying that. Go home and ice that eye." He nudges me toward the door. "Don't worry about those retards. I'll let Marsh and coach know about this."

For a moment I consider staying at school, but one look in the mirror tells me how squarely I was actually punched in the face. My eye is starting to darken already and swell shut. "You're probably right…" I make way for the door. "Uh, tell Tweek I said hi." Maybe Craig Tucker isn't the asshole I've always thought he was.

He nods. "Will do." Then I'm gone.

My body still aches with every movement and people are staring again, only this time it's because of the black eye. It's completely swollen shut by the time I reach my mom's car, but it doesn't impede my driving too much. Oh shit, my mother. God, she'll be home and then I'll have to explain this swollen, throbbing monstrosity. I should be able to sneak by her. But it won't matter because I'll need to come out of my room eventually.

My heart is pounding with anxiety as I drive home. Driving is made more difficult by the impending doom I feel in my gut than by my lack of depth perception. Mom's going to want to protest about this or something and I really don't need that kind of media coverage on my life. Especially when I'm already going to be beat up again after Craig tells their coach whatever he's going to tell him. And Stan won't be any help because he doesn't see outing me to the world as a fucking problem!

I don't know how I make it home, honestly. I just know I've pulled into my garage and I'm just sitting here with the car off, trying to figure out how I'm going to tell my mother what happened. She's going to find out one way or another because no doubt, she'll get a call from Principal Victoria about this. I figure I might as well tell her. Not with too much detail, but enough.

I first try my sneaking plan, which doesn't work because she's watching The View or something when I walk in. "Kyle, what're y- Oh my goodness!" She's on me in seconds, inspecting my swollen eye. "What the hell happened?!" She sounds angry, but I don't think it's at me.

Well, now or never. "These two guys cornered me at school and beat me up." That wasn't so hard.

She rubs over my tender bruise and I wince. "We need to get you some ice." She drags me along to the kitchen and proceeds to fill a bag with ice cubes from the freezer. She seems to calm from her original outrage as she dotes on me.

I take the bag and press it to my eye. It hurts for a moment, but the ice numbs me quickly. She takes her seat across from me at the table. She's eyeing me. She's not saying anything. I think she's waiting for me to start. It's not an explanation I'm too keen on giving, to be honest.

"Mom, I'm gay." The words leave my lips before I really have time to process them. I watch for her reaction out of my good eye, but she doesn't really give one.

She breathes in deeply. "Is that why these boys attacked you?" Come on, no reaction to your son coming out of the closet? Nothing?

I nod. "Yeah. I kinda got forced out of the closet at school and they wanted to 'make an example of me'." There's certainly more to the story, but I'm not telling my mother how I'm fucking my best friend or how that's the _actual_ reason I was bludgeoned. "I'm sorry."

My mom sighs and gets up to pull her chair next to me and remove my hat. She ruffles my hair sweetly. "Bubeh, what do you have to be sorry for?" What?

"For being gay! I… I don't know, I thought you'd be mad." I feel a little sheepish all of a sudden. She's stroking my hair like she used to do when I was young. It still has the same calming effect it did back then.

She smiles warmly. "Kyle, I may not be the greatest mother in the world, but I could never be angry at my son for liking boys." She kisses my cheek and I don't have the heart to fake a wince. "In fact, your father owes me twenty dollars, now."

I raise a brow at her. "Twenty dollars? What for?" Were they betting on me coming out? "You two knew?!" I feel a mix of betrayal and relief. God, they could've told me and saved us this conversation.

"Of course we knew. Your father bet me you wouldn't come out until after you were in college, but I had high hopes for you." Suddenly getting the shit kicked out of me doesn't seem like such a bad thing. "Kyle, something like your sexuality wouldn't stop us from loving you."

I'm taken aback. They really knew all along and their opinion of me never changed? I mean, I would never call myself flamboyant. Maybe a bit better of a dresser on a good day, but never flaunting my sexuality. I like a low profile on stuff like that. "How did you guys know?"

She blinks, head tilting to one side in thought. "Mother's intuition, I suppose. Not to mention you and Stan always seemed a bit chummier than just friends." Then she blinks. "Does this have to do with Stan?" Of course it does, all my problems do. "Did he do this to you?!" And worried mother is back.

"No mom, it wasn't him. It was some guys on his team though. They thought I was turning Stan gay or something." I almost wish they were right, but that's to worry about another time. "Craig Tucker ran them off though. He said he'd take care of it."

Her blink is one of surprise this time. "Laura's son? Really?" Yeah, that was my reaction too. "I'll need to give her a call and thank him."

I roll my eyes. "Mom, can we not involve more people in this? It's bad enough it happened in the first place."

She tousles my hair again. "Of course, bubeh. You don't have any broken bones, do you?" She goes about checking my body similarly to how Craig did.

"No, I think I'm fine. I'm gonna have a few bruises though." I shake her hands off. "The black eye is gonna be the most noticeable." My lip has scabbed over by now too.

She tugs my hand from my face lightly and examines it. "Well, it's a good thing school's almost out for Thanksgiving. We'll let you skip tomorrow, okay?" She rises from the table and makes way for the telephone. "I'm going to give Principal Victoria a call, go upstairs and rest, bubelah."

I nod. With how over-emotional my mom gets, I'm a bit surprised she didn't want some dramatic hug scene, but I suppose I can live without it. I'm just happy she doesn't care that I'm gay, dad too. That's a huge weight off my shoulders. My entire family knows for sure now. Hopefully she doesn't find out _how_ I was forced out of the closet, she might not be as understanding about knowing her son actually _has_ sex and with none other than his super best friend. God, my life sounds like a bad romance novel.

I keep the ice on my eye as I climb the stairs. This day feels like it's gone by in a flash. Probably since the only instance I really paid any mind to the time was when I was getting pummeled. The thought makes my eye throb. I remember so vividly just wanting to let them beat me. I shiver. Is Stan really having that terrible of an effect on me that I'd rather see myself bloodied and beaten than worry about my feelings for him? Should I see a psychiatrist?

No, I don't want to hurt myself or cause anyone else harm. I think I'm fine. It was just a poor lapse in judgement brought on by serious inner turmoil. This will all clear up when I finally sack up and either tell Stan how I feel or just break off our arrangement. I really don't see either of those happening any time soon.

My phone is ringing. Stan's picture is on the caller ID. Yeah, that figures. I should've expected a call from him sooner or later. "Hello?" As if I don't know it's him calling.

" _Kyle, shit, what happened?!"_ He sounds exasperated.

"Stan, I'm not really in the mood to talk about this right now." I'm still not in a great mood over all, especially where he's concerned given it's partially his fault I had my body beaten anyway.

He sighs. _"Alright, we don't have to talk about it. Craig told me what happened and everything's taken care of."_ I wonder for a moment if he beat the perpetrators down, but that's not Stan's way.

I turn over in bed, staring at the wall. "Okay, cool, thanks for letting me know." I want this call to end because the urge to say something I might regret is bubbling up in my throat.

" _Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?"_

I sigh. "I'm fine, you don't need to come over. Besides, you have practice today, I'm not letting you miss that just because of me." The urge is getting stronger.

I can almost hear him frowning at the phone. _"Really, Kyle, it's not a problem. Coach would let me miss a practice."_

I think the urge is starting to take over. "I think we need a break, Stan." Ah, there it is.

" _What?"_

I want to bury myself in blankets and never see anyone again. "I think we need a break from each other." I don't want it, but it's definitely for the best.

He's silent for a moment. _"Are you sure?"_ His understanding tone catches me by surprise. I was expecting him to argue with me about coming over.

"Yes, I'm sure. I need time to get my head on straight." I almost want to say 'or as straight as possible' but it's not a good conversation for making jokes. "I'm not going to avoid you." That's a point I need to make clear.

I think he nods, it sounds like his head rubs against the phone. _"No, I get it. We can talk about everything another time."_ For once I'm happy that he understands me.

I catch myself smiling. This is the kind of conversation a couple could have. "Thanks for understanding."

He chuckles. _"Don't mention it."_ We're both silent for a moment. _"You coming to school tomorrow?"_

"No, told my mom what happened, she's letting me skip since the break starts Thursday."

" _You told her? So she knows you're gay?"_

I chuckle for the first time today. "I didn't give her the _details_." He knows what I'm alluding to, hopefully. "I came out to her. Apparently her and dad already knew and were betting on when I came out of the closet."

He laughs at that. _"Wow, how much did she win?"_

"Twenty bucks."

" _I feel like part of that belongs to me. After all, you did come out to me first!"_

I scoff. "As if, asshole. You made me tell you. I told my mom of my own free will." More or less. Then it dawns on me we haven't been so candid with one another in quite a while. It's nice.

He chuckles. _"Alright, I'll let you get some rest."_

"I'll see you on Monday." I smile into the phone. Neither of us makes a move to hang up. "Stan?"

" _Yeah?"_

"Something bothering you?"

" _Huh? Oh, no. Get some rest, Ky."_

I don't believe him, but I figure we'll discuss it another time. "Alright, see ya."

" _Bye."_ He hangs up.

I stare at the phone for a moment before pulling my blanket over me. My lack of sleep the night before is really hitting me hard, especially when coupled with the beating I sustained. My mind drifts to the flicker of our old friendship in that phone call. I can't help but wonder why we've changed so much. Has sex really done such a number on us? Physically it doesn't seem like it, but I think something's bothering him.

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 **KeruKeru:** **I hope everyone's enjoying the story! I want to thank MelancholyDusk, L, blueneko8 and spiceypepper. Your reviews always put me in a good mood to write! Let me know what your thoughts are so far!**


	5. Snow and Self-Loathing

**KeruKeru: So you'll notice that this is and will probably be the longest chapter in the story. The final part of this chapter was originally intended to be its own chapter, but I decided against that and wrote it here instead!**

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5\. Snow and Self-Loathing

I'm shivering. It's fucking cold now that December's here. It may only be the first couple days into the month, but there's snow everywhere already. Sometimes it feels like the snow never leaves, even when we have our massive summer heatwaves. Whatever, the point is, I'm cold. Even my parka's not enough to stave off all of the chill sinking its way beneath my skin. My hands are shoved in my pockets, my head is down to keep the wind from stinging my face and I've broken out the snow boots because they keep my feet nice and toasty even if the sidewalks are clear.

Stan and I haven't done any fucking since the incident. We haven't really avoided each other though, more like we've kept a low profile on our involvement with one another. We've talked since, usually through text or school, about random happenings. Today though, it's the first time we'll have been alone together since I decided on us taking a break from our activities.

It's actually been kind of nice getting back to just being friends. Just laughing or talking to Stan makes me feel all giddy inside like when we were kids. No pressure to turn our conversation into a sexual encounter, no scandalous drawings… none that I'm aware of anyway. While I miss hanging out with Stan, I'm not really committed to the idea of us remaining friends with benefits. I was never really committed in the first place, but his body and lips and everything else distracted me from thinking clearly.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the sex. It was an easy distraction to my deeper feelings about him and part of me, mainly my dick, will miss it. However, I've seen we can actually go back to being friends despite our recent trysts. Besides, if Stan really wants someone to sleep with it's not as if he couldn't get anyone else. What reason he had to fixate on me for this experiment still has yet to reveal itself, maybe he just trusts me. Whatever, I'm done dwelling on that part and I'm ready to forget it.

The door jingles as I step into Harbucks. It's nice and cozy in here and I can finally unzip my coat and shake off some of the snow that's collected. The bitter scent of roasted coffee hits my nose instantly, assisting the heat of the establishment in warming me. I look up to see Tweek is behind the counter, forcing himself not to twitch while readying some drink for an impatient looking woman. I think Bebe's supposed to work here too, but she's not in today it seems.

I make way for the counter as Tweek hands over the woman's coffee. "Have a –ngh– wonderful day!" Tweek tries his best to stay still as he slides the drink to her. She has it in hand and is out the door within seconds. Not even a tip for poor Tweek. He notices me once the woman is gone. "Ngh… Hey K-Kyle, what're you do-ngh-doing here?"

"I'm meeting Stan. Could I get a medium hot chocolate?" I'm not much of a coffee drinker unless I really drown the bitterness in syrup.

His smile is a little off kilter when he nods. "Sure! Anything else?" He types in my drink order on the register.

I take a moment to think, but shake my head. "No, just the drink."

"Alright, that'll –ngh– be $4.32."

I dig into my pocket for my wallet and unfold the leather. I offer up a five and then drop two dollars into their little tip jar. "Keep the change from that too." It's not a lot for a friend, I know, but I'm a little short since I went Hanukkah shopping for my family. Plus, I still need to get Stan his gift for our annual gift exchange.

He smiles, the expression still askew as he cashes out the change and lets coins drop into the tip jar. "Thanks!" Tweek turns and starts working on my drink, first steaming the milk and then setting about with the chocolate and other ingredients.

While he works, I just watch, curious how he can stay so calm while doing this. He was raised around the preparation of drinks, maybe it calms him. "I take it you and Craig are doing well?"

The mention of his boyfriend's name makes Tweek jump, clearly still a bundle of nerves despite working in his element. "Shhhhhh! Someone might – ngh – hear you!"

I blink, scanning over the café's booths and chairs. "Tweek, we're the only ones here right now."

"Oh… s-sorry." He returns to mixing my drink before he chooses to respond. "Yeah, we're – ngh – doing alright." His voice is much calmer while he works aside from the usual tick. "I see your black eye healed."

The skin around my previously bruised eye still shown a bit yellow compared to my complexion, but it's nearly cleared by now. "Yeah, I couldn't see for a couple days." I chuckle at my own expense. "Glad Craig was there to pull those guys off me." I still feel bad Craig wouldn't accept my thanks.

Tweek chuckles to himself as he places the lid on my drink and slides it my way. "He told me he – ngh – owed you for helping m-me." Now that my drink's finished he's showing a bit more agitation.

I take up my drink and sip. It burns from being so fresh, but it's a good burn when it's accompanied by chocolate. "He said the same… I'm kinda worried what would've happened if he _didn't_ think he owed me…" I've had that dream since and it's really not a pretty result.

He hangs his head a bit. "I – ngh – don't know. I like to th-think he'd hel-help you regardless." I don't think he's any more convinced by that than I am.

The ringing of the door's signal catches our attention. We turn and find Stan entering. He's got his brown Carhartt jacket on. I love that jacket on him, it makes him look rugged. More so now that he hasn't shaved for a few days and he has that stubble… I really need to calm down. Even his beanie can't diminish the look though. "Hey guys." He smiles that heart-thumping smile of his.

We both greet him with a 'hey' before turning back to our conversation. "I know he won't listen, but tell Craig thanks for me."

"Will d-do." We exchange a glance that says 'he won't' before Stan reaches the counter. "What'll ya have?" Tweek asks immediately.

"Just a black coffee, please." Stan flashes him a smile and starts fishing for his wallet before Tweek has a chance to read off the price.

"I'm gonna go pick a table." I offer. Stan nods and I stroll over to a nearby booth. I shed my parka and place the wet mass of green on the seat next to me.

Stan and Tweek are talking about something, but I'm not really paying attention. I remember for a moment that I told Stan about him and Craig, but I don't know if he remembers that. Did Craig tell him? Nah, probably not.

With the aftermath of my coming out, I can't imagine Tweek and Craig or Kenny and Butters are planning on revealing themselves to the world yet. I mean, aside from the beating, I haven't had too much trouble at school. Cartman's switched to just harping on my being a 'fag' rather than a 'dirty Jew'. That's been a nice change. I think most folks already assumed I was gay so once the initial shock of seeing me mostly naked in sketch form wore off, nobody really cared.

Wendy's trying to petition the school to start a Gay Straight Alliance to help 'kids who think they're alone in questioning their sexual orientation' and she wants me to be her figurehead. As much as I agree we need something like that, I'm not about to be paraded around as the token out-of-the-closet homo. I've pretty much had porn of myself circulate the school, that's enough attention for me. She is using what happened to me as her catalyst, though. The beating, not the porn circulation.

Speaking of, Darrel and Maurice haven't bothered me. I never really got the full story from Stan, but from he's told me, they're no longer on the football team. I heard a rumor they got expelled, but I don't believe that. Suspended maybe, but our town's not politically correct enough to expel people for wailing on the gay kid. At least, it's not politically correct anymore. Not since Stan's dad drove away the Whole Foods.

Stan enters my line of sight with his coffee, sliding out of his Carhartt. He's got the Captain America shirt on that I bought him. I have to smile at that. "I see you came prepared." I joke at the article. I've seen him in it enough times since his birthday.

"Don't I always?" He chuckles at me and takes a sip of his coffee. "The coffee here is shit." He whispers so Tweek won't hear. Said spazoid is busy polishing the espresso machine. "I miss Tweak Brothers."

I roll my eyes, smiling. "That place hasn't existed since we were kids." In fact, it's Tweek's parents that own and run the Harbucks. They kind of sold out for the money despite knowing Harbucks has terrible coffee.

He shrugs. "Yeah, but still. I didn't like coffee back than and it's still better than this." He takes another swig of the bitter liquid regardless.

"That's why I don't drink coffee." My dislike for the flavor as well as the fact it puts me a bit on edge. I sip at my own sweet drink.

When the lid leaves me lips, Stan reaches across with his hand and swipes his thumb over my lips, collecting chocolatey milk I didn't realize was left. He seems like it's completely normal to clean hot chocolate of your best friend's lip. "You should really use a napkin."

I feel my face starting to heat up. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about." I've had enough time to practice this, but there was no scenario where his cleaning my lip happened. Though I admit one train of thought led to us fucking on the table…

"About you using a napkin?" His head tilts like an inquisitive puppy, so cute.

I shake my head. "Not that. Remember that night? How I talked about you giving me mixed signals?" My fingers gripped comfortingly at the red paper cup.

Stan nods carefully. "Yeah, I still really don't get what you mean. The picture was kinda crude, but I still liked it…" It's one of the few times I get to see him blush. Weird. "I'm all ears though."

Maybe I should've stayed that night and explained myself rather than storming off. Oh well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. "Well… _Some_ of what you do leads me to believe that you want… _more_ out of our relationship than just sex." I'm trying to be subtle at first, see how well that works.

"'More'…? Like, how much more?" Okay, that didn't pan out.

I bite my lip nervously, unsure how he'll take this. "It just seems like you want us to be boyfriends rather than… friends with benefits…" My cheeks are pink as the words finally leave me. "And I know that's not really what you want."

He blinks at me, somewhere between dumbstruck and questioning. "Oh…"

"Just, ya know, I don't think that friends, even if they're sleeping together, draw each other naked." The image is still ingrained in my head.

He nods, expression unreadable. "To be fair, your waist down wasn't shown. You could've been wearing pants."

I roll my eyes at his attempt at some kind of a defense. "Stan, the face you gave me left little to the imagination. Believe me, I know what I look like after-... never mind." I suddenly realize how candid I'm being in public and have to refrain from continuing even if Tweek is the only other person here. "Also, cleaning my lips with your finger?"

He kind of chuckles to himself. "Would you rather I used something else?"

"No!" Though, the image of him kissing away the chocolate does make itself present in my head. "It's just something else I don't really expect from a friend. Oh, and calling me cute, that too."

Stan frowns at my addition. "Kyle, you are cute." Yeah, he's definitely messing with me. "I may not be fully aware of my sexuality, but I'm comfortable enough with myself to see that." Really? "Any guy would be lucky to have you." Any guy but you?

I almost want to ask, but I think it's my high hopes making me think he'll say something like 'especially me' and I'm sure he won't. I can't fight my face's need to flush from his compliment nonetheless. "Anyway, that's why I've just been confused about our arrangement."

"I see." He stares at his cup for a bit, mulling over my words and takes a sip. I let myself wonder what Stan tastes like mixed with coffee… "I guess I see your point. I've never really thought of stuff like that as out of our realm of friendship. We've always been pretty gay with each other." His eyes find mine, examining me. "Naked pictures notwithstanding." Pictures?

My eyes go wide. "There… There are more?!" If had taken a drink, I would've spit it all over him.

He blinks. "Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. But I'm not posting them anywhere." He's not embarrassed by this at all? "You help me with expressions."

I think that's supposed to be a compliment. "Well… I guess I can't be too mad as long you're the only one seeing them…" And hopefully me whenever he decides to show me. My face is still hot from the revelation.

"So, let me ask you, what does all this mean for us?" He's eyeing me expectantly, I can't tell what answer he's hoping for.

I flick my thumb at the lip of my lid. I know the answer I intended to give. "I'm not sure…" At the end of the day, I'm still a hormone crazed boy, you can see my dilemma now that he's sitting in front of me. "Originally I planned on just calling it off…" I notice him wilt. "But I don't know."

He sighs. "We don't have to keep going if you don't want to. It's meant a lot that you've wanted to stay with it this long." His smile is unconvincing, no thumping to follow. I can't tell if he sincerely wants it, or if he's just as plagued by hormones as I am.

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just… God, Stan, it's been nice to get back to us just being friends, ya know?" I ready myself. "I've liked not having to worry if every encounter we have is going to turn sexual. I like doing that stuff with you, but I just… I don't know." I'm not good at shit like this.

"Trust me, Kyle, I get it. Half the time I'm worried we're going to wear each other out." He chuckles again. "Sex with you is awesome." Cue blushing. Dammit. "Some of the time I really only go along with it because I think it's what you want to do."

I just kind of stare at him. "Me too! Like, it's fun and all, but most of the time I just like us hanging out." This feels good to finally talk about. We've been going on a month and a half and never actually discussed the terms of this.

He smiles my favorite Stan smile. "Kyle, you're my super best friend and nothing is better than hanging out with you. How about this, though? On top of stopping this whenever one of us feels uncomfortable," Oh so now it's not just me that can feel uneasy about it? "How about we also agree that nothing happens unless we both actually want to do it?"

I have to stifle a chuckle at his wording, remembering full well how freaked out he got the last time he thought I didn't want it. "What if the other one doesn't want to?"

"Then we're shit outta luck."

Yes, I'm considering this. As much as I had been determined to end this, I do like knowing that he cares. The times where we were both into it have been amazing. That picture is a testament to such. That's probably why he drew it. If one of us or both aren't really feeling up to it, I can tell the difference. It's much more lackluster and daunting. I wonder if he notices the difference too. "You sure you want to keep going?"

He tilts his head at me. "Are _you_?"

No, no I'm not. "I think so." I'm so fucking wishy-washy.

"Kyle, I can tell you're lying. If you want to stop, we'll stop." He's holding me with those blue eyes of his. I could lose myself in them at any moment.

"How about we just give it like a trail run? I'll know for sure in a few weeks."

He considers this for a moment and nods. "Alright, but neither of us gets laid unless we both really want to. Deal?" He offers me his hand like it's some kind of business proposition.

I take it and shake without so much as another thought. "Deal." I suddenly remember the last time I accepted something without giving a thought to the terms and conditions. But this won't be as bad as a HumanCentiPad…

We remain in the café for a while longer just talking about nothing and soon go our separate ways.

* * *

The following couple of weeks see us returning to a much more 'super best friends' approach to each other, something neither of us have really seen since before our original 'blow jobs for Stan' agreement. Don't get me wrong, we still have sex. It's in much less frequency, but it's a lot more intense over all. There's no pressure for us to just suddenly fuck anymore so sometimes we'll just be hanging out and then bam, he's on top of me and we're both groaning in ecstasy. There are no longer any expectations between us which is what killed a lot of the mood for me. That and knowing the guy I love won't love me back, but one angst-y teen problem at a time.

My mom has joined Wendy now in the crusade for a GSA, but I'm trying with all my might to stay out of that mine field. The two most domineering women in my life want me as a fucking mascot and it's certainly not on my priority list in the slightest. It's why I'm glad to get out of the house when Kenny texts me and asks if I want to head to the mall with him and Butters. I still have to pick out something for Stan.

They really outdid themselves with the mall renovations. Nobody would ever know a massive genocide took place here in efforts to get Black Friday deals. Every so often there's a whiff of that putrid scent of a rotting corpse, but I don't think that'll ever leave. Of course, that could just be one of the tons of shoppers here doing their holiday shopping.

"So what are you planning on getting Marsh?" Kenny's voice over the rabble makes me return his gaze. He and Butters aren't holding hands, but they're close enough that their fingers keep brushing together. It's kind of sweet.

I shrug. "I don't know yet. I have a few ideas, but nothing really concrete." I love and hate shopping for Stan. I know he'd love anything I buy him, but I'm never satisfied with just 'anything'. There needs to be sentimentality to it even if he doesn't feel the same way.

"You could make him something!" Butters smiles from around his boyfriend. I remember that Butters is in the ceramics class at school, I know what Kenny's getting for Christmas.

I chuckle at my own expense. "I'm not skilled enough in anything to make him something." Even if Stan has the whole 'thought that counts' mentality. I wouldn't feel right giving him a piece of garbage.

Kenny looks at me. "Just don't get him any more of your guys' superhero nerd shit. It doesn't exactly say 'I'm hopelessly in love with you'."

I elbow him immediately. "Shut the fuck up. I'd never get him a gift that said that. Besides, he wouldn't be able to understand the message even it were printed on the damn thing." Stan's not the best with subtlety, I'm sure you're aware.

Kenny snickers to himself at my reaction. "You're probably right. Even the glowing sign over your head isn't enough to let him know."

"Now Kenny, stop teasing him." Butters comes to my defense while I just roll my eyes.

Kenny frowns. "But seriously, Kyle, how are things with you two?" Kenny and I haven't spoken at length since early November when I let him in on Stan and I's arrangement. God, I'm such a wonderful friend.

I think over his question. "Things are fine, I guess. I mean, after I got the shit kicked out of me we took a break from fucking. Then we talked everything out and we're back to fucking again."

Butters raises a brow at me. "Is that… good?" He's so adorably innocent.

"Yeah, I guess it is. I mean, it's a lot of fun, but I know it isn't going anywhere." I watch through store windows at the hectic Christmas shoppers, partially eyeing the racks for anything that makes me think of Stan.

Kenny shakes his head, eyes rolling. "Please, you've gotten Stan to admit he likes fucking you, that's gotta count for something in your book."

I shrug. "I guess you could call that a win."

"If you don't like it, how come you don't stop sleeping with him?" Oh Butters.

Kenny snickers to himself. "He can't."

His boyfriend blinks. "Uh, why not?"

"Let's change the subject." I'd rather not discuss this any further. It's bad enough I've had to discuss this long already.

I think Kenny whispers something to Butters along the lines of 'I'll tell you later', but I'm not paying enough attention. I'm still trying to scan each and every store I find for a gift. Finding meaningful material objects is hard.

"Eric hasn't been giving you trouble, has he?" Butters' voice breaks through my concentration.

I shake my head. "No more than usual. Thankfully I only see him first period so Garrison usually shuts him up." We all share a laugh at that. "What about you guys? Anyone know about you besides Stan and I?"

"Wendy." Kenny's voice is clearly exasperated. "She wants us to be part of this gay-straight thing she's putting together."

I can't help but snicker. "She got to you too, huh? She wants me to be its leader or something."

"I think it'll be fun!" Butters chimes in. "It could really help kids in school who don't understand themselves yet!"

"Leo, maybe _you_ should help Wendy, you're better with people than either of us." Kenny offers.

Butters seems to consider this. "You're right! I could draw up posters and hang them all around the school for people to know when our meetings are and everything!" His eyes are practically glowing with childlike wonderment.

It's not a bad idea, actually. Butters is more of a people person compared to Kenny or I. "There you go, you just gotta let Wendy know you're interested." I then snicker to myself. "And then convince Kenny to join."

"Hey now, it'll be a cold day in Hell before that fucking happens."

I smirk. "It's always a cold day here, though." I'm so funny.

Butters giggles at least. "C'mon Kenny, it could be fun!" He puts on the sweetest pleading puppy face. Damn, that'd be hard to say no to.

I can tell Kenny is trying to avert his eyes, but he's clearly too susceptible to that look. "Alright, fine, I'll go _once_ , but not until you and Wendy have it up and running. I'm not planning shit."

Butters grins at his successful attempt at winning over Kenny. "Oh boy! This is gonna be so much fun!"

"Isn't your mom trying to help with this gay thing?" Kenny turns tome quizzically.

I sigh. "God, don't remind me." She's started receiving the Equal Rights pamphlets and stickers. I don't even subscribe to them. "I think her next step is to decorate her car in rainbows and announce to everyone she's proud of me."

"Wait, so you told her?" Kenny blinks at me, surprised.

I scoff. "Not really. I mean, I told her, but apparently she and my dad already knew. She won twenty bucks off a bet on when I'd come out." I wonder if dad ever paid up.

Kenny pats me on the back. "At least someone's making money off your misery and self-loathing." He's be facetious, but it's not far from the truth. "She know about you and Stan?"

" _I_ haven't told her, but I think she's suspicious that something's going on between us." Not that either of us is all that discrete, Ike almost caught us one day.

"After that picture got out, I think everyone's suspicious." He has a point.

I elbow him regardless. "Shut it."

"Stan's pictures looked really good though! I can see why everyone liked them so much." Butters grins at us. I'm not sure he fully grasps what was so bad about that situation.

Sometimes I wish I could be more like Butters and see the world through his pair of rose-colored glasses rather than be a jaded human being. "Yeah, of course they're amazing. Some are just… inappropriate." We're getting into that area of conversation I wanted to bypass.

Butters doesn't seem to get that. "Well, some of the best artists of all time made naughty stuff, but they're still revered!" If that were the issue, he'd make a decent point.

"I know, I'd just prefer those kinds of pictures not be of me." Or at least if they are, he not show them off for all to see.

Butters seems to consider this. "I guess that makes sense." That drops the conversation.

Butters and Kenny continue talking about something or other, I think it's their Christmas plans. Meanwhile, I'm still scoping out a present for Stan. Maybe I should look for something online, like Amazon. Nah, I don't have their two-day shipping and I kind of don't trust it to be here in time for the last night of Hanukkah with all the other holiday shipping. I shouldn't have procrastinated so long. Oh well, it's my own fault.

Something catches my eye. It's inside one of those little Japanese shops that crop up inside malls ever once in a while. They sell a lot of anime and video game merchandise that regular stores don't carry and it's all pretty cheap. My eye catches a Lambtron plushie standing on a shelf near the door. I immediately think of our night at Token's. _"Cartman stole my favorite Lambtron card"_. It makes me smile despite the events that followed.

"I have to get that for Stan." I take the plushie from its place on the shelf and head for the cashier. She's an elderly Japanese woman. I pay and she bags up my gift. I turn and find Kenny staring back at me. Butters is inspecting toys from some anime he must like.

Kenny rolls his eyes at me. "I thought we agreed you weren't getting him nerd shit."

I smirk. "Actually, you said _'superhero_ nerd shit'. Besides, this is kind of an inside joke between us." I hope it can replace the Lambtron card Cartman took.

Kenny just sighs. "Whatever you say. Leo, come on." He gestures for Butters who's playing with some action figures before he's summoned.

The two decide to stay at the mall a while longer when I inform them I need to head home. We say our goodbyes and I make way for my house. The last night of Hanukkah is in a couple days and I need to make sure I get this wrapped.

I keep checking the bag on my way and smiling like an idiot. I hope he loves this as much as I think he will. If anything, he might not even remember what it's in reference to. If he doesn't I'll need to tell of our conversation before everything went south. Then again, he could easily remember and it could just remind him of the terrible aftermath of that night. Shit, why can't my mind ever just let me do something nice without any repercussions?

* * *

The night finally arrives after a couple days of fretting. Stan's tried to get me to spill what my present to him is, but I'm keeping it as much a secret as he's keeping mine. In fact, if he asks, I ask what my present is from him and he just clams up. It's funny to watch.

Just as our family finishes blessing our menorah, there's a knock at the door. They know who it is so there's no fight when Stan steps through the door without an invitation. "Oh, sorry!" He frets the second he sees us gathered in the dining room with the lights mostly off. "I'll come back later."

"Nonsense, Stan, come in!" My dad smiles and gestures him in. "We were just finishing up for the night. Besides, you're always welcome here."

Stan nods and steps in nervously, carrying my present in one hand. It looks like he wrapped a really thick book. "Well, Happy Hanukkah everyone!" His phlegmy emphasis on the holiday's name makes Ike and I chuckle.

My mom offers her own smile. "Happy Hanukkah to you too, Stan." A ding from the kitchen catches her attention. "Oh, that's dinner. Gerald, come help me so the boys can have their little gift exchange." She sends a very obvious wink my way and I pale. She didn't attempt to make it subtle, so I'm sure others saw. What is she trying to hint at?

"Coming, dear." My dad follows after her.

I breathe a sigh of relief now that my parents are out of the room. I shoot an inquiring look in Ike's direction as he's not making a move to leave. "Don't you have friends to bother online?"

He snickers, the smug bastard. "Nope, the WoW crew is taking the night off."

"Ike, you have trash to take out." My mother's voice calls from the kitchen, saving me.

He whines. "Moooom, I'll do it later!" He leaves begrudgingly though, knowing full well she won't be kept waiting.

I can see Stan chuckling as he takes a seat on our couch. I head into the living room. "Sorry about that." I always apologize for my family.

"Dude, it's fine. You know I love your family." His eyes tell me he's truthful, but I don't see how anyone could love my family outside of being forced to due to relation. "Now where's my present?!" He grins like a child.

I can't help but chuckle. "It's upstairs, I'll go get it." I gesture for him to stay seated and march for the stairs. I don't think I could have gotten to my room and back any faster, I'm too excited to see how Stan likes his gift.

He's blinking at my speed. "You're eager." It's a joke, evident by his teasing smirk.

"I just can't wait to see your face when you open it." I have the plushie stashed in a holiday bag decorated with cartoon Santa heads, somewhat as a joke given the current night.

We swap packages the instant I sit down and I have to snicker at his chosen wrapping for my book-like gift. The paper is light blue and decorated in white menorahs, the traditional Jewish color scheme. The seams and taping are honestly terrible, so I know it's Stan who wrapped it. At the same time though, that makes the gift all the more special. God, I'm getting all sentimental and I haven't seen what it is yet. We're both just sitting in silence. "You first."

He shakes his head. "Nah, you." Neither of us moves. "Kyle, seriously, you go first."

I think to argue, but I know he'll just force me to open it anyway. "Okay." I flip it over and the contents shifts, fanning out like it's a stack of something. "Did you get me a book?" He doesn't answer as I start tearing away the paper. I'm careful, not wishing to rip it on the off chance my mom can reuse it.

"Okay, dude, I know you like everything clean and perfect, but come on, you're really killing the mood." Stan teases me and I shred the last of the paper to make a point.

I'm left confused, staring at the present. It's a stack of three books, all of varying age, clearly. I pick up the oldest one which looks like a composition book one would have for note taking. One of the other two looks more like a spiral notebook that looks only slightly less aged than the composition book. The last of the three seems to be the newest and thickest, a large, black, leather bound book with no title on the front. That's the one I recognize when I get to it. "Are these… Are these your sketchbooks?"

Stan's trying to read my face, but I'm sure all he's getting is surprise. "Yeah. I promised you'd get to see them when they were ready. I just had to finish the last one." He means the newer one, I think.

I pick up the stack, still awestruck that he'd even consider giving me these books that have so much meaning to him. "Stan, I can't accept these." I make a move to give them back.

He holds up his hands in protest. "Nope, they're yours now." I still try to shove them into his hands to no avail. "Kyle, dude, I want you to have them."

"But why? They mean so much to you! I wouldn't feel right keeping them." My morbid curiosity is telling me to look through every one, but I know that'd be wrong.

He pats my back. "Look, they do mean a lot to me. But so does giving them to you. After the art show, I thought it'd be best if you got to decide what happened to the rest of my drawings. I meant it when I said you get decide if they burn or not."

My eyes go wide at his insinuation. "I wouldn't even think of doing that!" Though, there may be one picture I could light.

"Good, then keep them. I want you see them all anyway. You're the only other person who gets to see everything I've ever drawn." The hand patting my back moves to my other shoulder, tugging me into a sideways hug.

I'm still just left staring at the books, dueling with myself over keeping them or trying once more in vain to return them to their rightful owner. "God, Stan… I can't even… I don't know what to say…" I almost forget we're semi-hugging.

His hand squeezes my shoulder. "Happy Hanukkah, dude." I feel like he's going to kiss me. It would be the perfect moment, but his hand leaves my shoulder instead.

"Thanks, Stan." My voice is still filled with disbelief. "God, my gift is gonna suck…" I berate myself. I got him a fucking doll. He gave me the most precious things he owns, and I bought him a fucking doll. I'm such an idiot.

He raises a brow at me. "I doubt that it sucks. It _is_ from my super best friend." He uses that as his cue to dig into the bag past the white tissue paper.

He doesn't say anything at first. "See? I told you, it sucks!" I feel my face starting to heat up. I knew he'd hate it. Or he probably doesn't remember why I bought it.

"You bought me a Lambtron…" He pulls the yellow plushie from its bag. It's near the size of Stan's head now that I have that to compare it to.

I nod sheepishly. "I know, it's stupid. You just… You told me Cartman stole your trading card when we were kids…" This sounds like something a five year old would do. "I thought maybe I could replace it… But compared to your sketchbooks this seems so…" I can't even think of a word good enough to describe how supremely I fucked up.

"Perfect."

His voice surprises me. "What?"

His eyes are gleaming. "This is perfect."

I laugh at my own expense. "No it's not. It's terrible. I bought you a fucking stuffed animal." It's honestly hilarious how incompetent I am.

"Don't say that. Dude. You're the only one who could've gotten me something like this." He back peddles a bit. "Well, except Cartman, but he wouldn't." He toys with the bionic arm of the creature like he's a big kid. "This is awesome, I swear."

I really don't believe him. "Are you sure? I could take it back and find something better." I did keep the receipt for just such an occasion.

He nods. "I'm positive." My brow furrows at his assurance. "Seriously, Kyle, this is better than anything else you could've gotten me. It gets me all nostalgic for the good ol' days when the worst thing we had to worry about was Cartman becoming the second Hitler."

"We probably still have to worry about that." I counter, lifted up by his words despite my continued guilt.

He chuckles, but I'm sure he can read the remorse on my face. "Kyle, stop second-guessing yourself." Like it's supposed to be that easy when you're a better friend than me. "Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better gift." I'll choose to believe him for now.

I smile, face still warm. "Well, Merry Christmas." My words are clearly unconvincing.

He squints. "Stop that. Kyle, I know you don't believe me, but you have to." Just then he places Lambtron on the coffee table followed by the sketchbooks that were in my lap.

My brow raises questioningly. "What are you doing?" Before I can register what's happening, his arms are around me and his warmth is wrapping me in its soothing embrace. I fight back the urge shiver and find myself melting into his arms. He got me from the side so I can't do a lot to return his affections. "Okay! Okay! I believe you!" My face is hot again, but for a different reason.

He smirks proudly when he finally lets me go. "Good, glad we had this discussion." I was wrong, Stan's the smug bastard.

* * *

I wake bright and early when the Christmas sun starts to shine through my window. I don't remember the last time I was ever up this early on Christmas. I can imagine it's about the time younger kids are racing downstairs to see what Santa got them, but that's never been us.

I'm in the T&P pajama shirt and boxers, not even bothering with pants as I rise and head immediately for Stan's sketchbooks. Before he left that night, I tried to pawn them off one more time, but he wouldn't have it. So I made a deal with myself to wait until today to look them over while Stan's getting his Christmas presents. Almost like a move of solidarity.

I've caught myself eyeing them while I sit in my room and curiosity's almost taken over one too many times. Most of it stems from the art show. If he has one scandalous drawing of me, who's to say there aren't others? But I've managed to keep myself in check.

I take up the stack and sit cross-legged on my bed. I plan to start with the newest of the books first because I've actually seen Stan with that one. It's a black pleather cover, hardback. Just the book itself looks spectacular, never mind the artistic treasures hidden inside. I take a deep breath and flip the cover over, beginning to skim over each picture I find.

One of note is a sketch Stan made of Sparky. The dog and his little pink ascot are sitting in front of the family's sliding glass door. Stan's drawn him with this look of longing to be outside, almost sadness. In reality, the dog probably just saw squirrels he wasn't allowed to chase. Stan shaded in parts of Sparky's body, except around his eyes and the white spot on his back where signs of aging are starting to show. I chuckle at a memory of Stan joking about Sparky being a 'daddy' for all the younger gay dogs.

A few more pictures follow, his truck, the family's house, a football. I can't get over the detail. Every speck of dirt on his truck, every chip in the paint on their home, even the leather on the football looks almost like you could reach out and touch it.

My favorite picture of this book is one of Stark's Pond. It seems like the afternoon as parts of the mountains are shaded. He was obviously sitting at the bench on the lake because the point of view is very nearly on the water. He's added a bit of color to this one as the water is a faded blue-green to differentiate between it and the foam of the tiny waves lapping at the shore. The reeds are all bent over, each at a different height like a soft breeze is whipping through them. A duck and her ducklings can be seen venturing out of the dancing reeds. Even the trees are being blown in Stan's picture, leaves in all directions on the closer ones while the others are shaded in different spots to simulate the look wind gives to them blowing into the light. It's so breathtaking. I feel like I could just jump into the picture and wind up on the shores of Stark's Pond.

Every picture afterward is just as phenomenal, all of them realistic drawings of different scenes. He has one drawn of the football field where the team is practicing. A few players are sprawled out taking a break. They all look like snapshots with how crystal clear his detail-orientation is. I can't believe it. I come across the picture he drew of my hat and smile. My fingers run over it just as they had when I first saw it in its crumpled glory. He colored this one since I'd last seen it, the colors almost looking faded like the Unshaka itself.

When I finally close the book, I take a minute to process all I've seen. That was only the first one and I'm already a little winded. I feel like I just took a short jog around town. But the more I think, I realize there weren't any pictures of myself or any people for that matter. Sure, there were some people like the football players, but they served more as added objects than subjects.

I set that book aside and go for the composition book. This one is incredibly old, nearly falling apart so I'm gentler with it. I recall seeing it once before when I went through Stan's backpack. We were only about thirteen-ish. It's covered in really old Chinpokomon stickers like my laptop was. Some of them are either paled or starting to peel off. This thing is seriously ancient.

I flip through it. I find myself grinning ear to ear with how old these sketches must be. They're nowhere near his skill level now, but they're also not like his normal style. They're all Chinpokomon, explaining the stickers. Some of them I recognize, not by name, other than Lambtron. Others are ones I think he came up with himself. The way he's drawn them, they're meant to look like anime so with his younger hand they end up rather clunky.

The closer to the end, the more I can see his skill growing. Still not at his current level, but the definition is certainly starting to present itself in minute ways like the glare of the creatures' eyes or a shadow to indicate light orientation. It makes me feel warm inside imagining Stan drawing these when we were kids, tongue out as he tried to keep a steady hand.

I'm finally at the last book. The notebook-esque one. I recognize it now that I'm seeing it. It's the one I remember Stan drawing in when we were watching TV. One of the pictures he… Oh shit… My heartrate increases the second I make the connection. This is the book I've feared this entire time. The one that forced me out of the closet and got me beaten up. I almost don't want to look through it… We both know I'm going to look through it.

It's at least a few years older than the more professionally bound one, but younger than the composition book. It's like the middle child in the family.

The first picture I come to is one of the four of us: Stan, myself, Cartman and Kenny. We look like we're about eleven, at least judging by Cartman's rotund obesity and Kenny's face covered by his hood. This one is actually a picture that was taken of the four of us together, probably how Stan started practicing his eye for detail. It was some party by the looks of it, I think the one where Stan's dad was singing as Lorde to help us get popular again. We were so stupid. It's kind of adorable actually. Each of our forms are a bit clunky, probably at Stan's transition from anime to realism, but they're not bad.

As I flip through the pages, I find fewer pictures that include Cartman and it's soon just Stan, Kenny and I. He has one of Kenny passed out with a bong in his hand, probably the night they both got stoned for the first time. They invited me, but I wasn't interested in trying it. I'm still not.

Butters has a few appearances here and there, mostly of him and Kenny. I think Stan might have figured out they were together long before either of them did. He sketched the two of them sleeping, cuddled up together. I actually remember that. We were having a sleep over after the new Call of Duty came out, staying up all night. They sacked out like that and Stan and I couldn't stop giggling. We were nice and left them alone. They detached at some point in their sleep because the next morning they were in their own sleeping bags.

The deeper I go, the more the focus of the book switches from us to just me. My first solo picture, I'm staring out the window of his parents' car. He has the outside blurred to the speed of the car, really giving the illusion of movement. Meanwhile my face is one of boredom and dejection. I forget why, I don't remember this car trip, but I probably forgot to bring something to do, hence the look on my face.

More and more pictures of just me follow and we're starting to catch up with my current moment. There's one of my diving off a rock into Stark's pond a couple summers ago. Stan's realism truly shining through now. The legs of my swim shorts are wrinkled and billowing in the air as I'm caught mid-fall. My hair is buzzed short, just after I had it cut. The freckles are clearly shown trailing over my face and my arms are shaded slightly to point out my farmer's tan since I rarely take off my shirt in public, this instance being one of those erratic occasions. I blush a little as I notice he's added in my treasure trail that starts at my belly button and disappears into the hem of my pants. It's hardly the lewdest picture in here, but it's a detail I never expected him to add or even notice.

I catch myself blushing as I flip further and further into the book. I'm nearing the end as I come to a picture from this year. It's of me, of course. I'm asleep though. My head is half-buried in a pillow and the view is oriented so I'm seen from the opposite side of the shared pillow where Stan's head rested. My hair is in its just-slept state, curled in all the wrong places. The shading on the pillow near my mouth shows I was drooling at least at some point. The picture cuts off at my shoulders, but the collar of my T&P shirt is clearly visible. I think this is from our annual 'first day of school' sleepover back in September. We always stay the night at one house and get ready for school together.

I turn the page and it seems to fit my timeline as this one is somewhat like those in the pleather book, a larger scene smattered with precious details. The only difference is that I'm the clear subject. It's Tweek and I talking during Stan's football practice. I have my hand poised to touch his shoulder in comfort, but I remember I never did. My form is clearer than the rest he's drawn on the stands, but it's still obvious Tweek is the one I'm next to. He even captured one girl taking a picture of the players with her phone and another couple girls talking animatedly about something. Does Stan have a photographic memory I don't know about? I don't even recall all this happening around me.

I find there are perforated edges of pictures that were removed, presumably the ones Stan used for the art show. The thought makes my face warm. I haven't found anything as intimate as that _one_. Maybe he didn't draw any more like he alluded to at Harbucks.

He definitely didn't as I've reached the final drawing. Another of me, like that's a surprise. It makes my heart ache though. It's a forward shot of my face, like the one at the art show where I was smiling with the freckles across my nose. This one, however… My eye is black and swollen, the one that was punched. It's long since healed, but the skin around said eye throbs in remembrance. I'm not smiling either. It's a frown this time, one of those 'don't cry' frowns too, which is supported by the glint of water he's detailed into my uninjured eye. He really captured me when I try to look like nothing's bothering me, but everything's bothering me. My hat is even askew compared to its normally perfect orientation on my head, a few stray curls escaping. I shiver as my thoughts from that day rear themselves, I was ready to just let them beat me and if Craig hadn't…

Something else about the picture catches my eye. In the top write he's scrawled "I'm sorry". I don't know if that was added for me as an afterthought or if this picture and message are meant to symbolize his guilt about the situation. I never blamed him for it though. I would've forgiven him long ago even if I did.

I make up my mind instantly. I need to see him. These books… The spiral one in particular. Maybe he really does care for me as more than a friend and he's not really sure how to prove it to me. Well, these proved it.

I'm not showered so I just throw on sweats and a t-shirt along with my hat and parka. I make way downstairs. My dad's awake, surprisingly. He's watching some law show I'm not familiar with. "Little early to be going out, isn't it, son?" It's only nine or ten I think.

"I know, but I need to talk to Stan." I'm not facing him as I slip on my boots. "I'll be back soon." I wave to him and trudge out into the snow. Maybe it is a little early, but knowing Stan's dad the whole family's probably been up for an hour or so at least.

I knock on their door and am soon greeted by Shelly Marsh. She's lost her braces over the years, but still has a slight lisp. She looks like she's just woken up. "Ugh, you." Nice to see you too. She turns her head to yell. "Stan, your turd friend is here for you." And she stomps back into the house, leaving the door wide open.

Stan's parents are on the couch, some stray Christmas wrapping on the floor in front of them before Stan's in the doorway. "Oh, hey Kyle. Surprised you're up so early." He chuckles. He's got our T&P pants on with a gray t-shirt.

"Are you guys busy? I wanted to talk to you." I don't want to intrude or anything.

He shakes his head. "No, we actually just finished."

I breathe a little sigh of relief. "Okay, cool. Mind if we go for a walk?" I really don't want to have a conversation like this with our families present.

"Sure." He grabs his Carhartt off the nearby coat rack and slips into his boots and beanie. "I'm going out with Kyle, I'll be back." I hear a unified 'okay' from both of his parents and then Stan is outside with me. "So where are we headed?"

I'm honestly not sure. "Uhh… how about the park?" Sounds like as good a place as any given all the kids that are usually there are most likely still at home freaking out over Christmas.

He smiles. "Lead the way." And I do.

On the walk he relays all the presents he received. It's mostly monetary gifts like a gas card from his grandpa or a Game Stop card from his sister. He does mention his mom found him a new sketchbook.

"Oh, yeah, that's part of what I wanted to say." We take a seat on the bench between the snow-covered pirate ship set and the basketball courts. "I finally looked them over."

He blinks at me. "Why'd you wait so long?"

I chuckle, the reasoning seeming superfluous now. "I thought it'd be nice to have something to open on Christmas for once. It wasn't easy to keep myself from looking through them though."

There's a moment of silence. "Well, what did you think?"

That's such a loaded question. I think so many things. Most of which are probably from my over-active imagination concerning the pictures of me. "You're amazing." For a moment I wonder if I'm talking about his skills in illustrating or just in general. Both.

He chuckles bashfully. "Aww, come on, I'm not that good."

"Yes you are! A lot of those drawings felt like I could just jump right into them!" The Stark's Pond scene comes to mind. "Dude, I don't think you realize just how talented you are. You have this eye for detail that's like scary precise." My hat is the picture I most recognize that quality in.

There's a blush on his cheeks now. "You really think so?" I don't even hesitate to nod and that makes him chuckle again. "Hearing that means a lot, Ky. You're the one person whose opinion really matters to me."

I can't stop the incredulous look that's got to be on my face. "I don't know shit about art though." I remember he said something like this at the art show, I still don't understand why.

"Kyle, you're my best friend. I couldn't care less about your knowledge of the arts. You could be unable to draw stick figures and I'd still care more about your thoughts than Picasso's." He's clearly serious and that makes my heart thump loudly in my chest, blood rushing immediately to my face.

There's so many things I could say to him right now. So many things I want to say. "Count to ten." That's not what I thought was on that list.

His brow raises at the sudden order. "Uhh… Why?"

"Just do it!" I stand immediately, letting my autopilot take over. "And close your eyes." I'm not sure where I'm going with this.

There's slight concern on his face, but he shrugs. "Alright…" His eyes close. "One… Two…"

I don't take any longer than the first two seconds to run off. I nearly trip when my foot catches in the snow, but I save myself. I'm heading for the pirate ship. I'm too small to fit inside so I crouch behind it in an effort to hide myself. Apparently we're going to play hide and seek.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Stan's being a good sport and playing along. I can hear the snow crunch beneath his boots. There aren't many places to hide so I can hear the crunching getting closer. It'll stop every once in a while, probably because he's scanning the park looking for me. "Give me a hint!" He's too close, opening my mouth would give away my position.

I can hear him between the split hull of the ship and turn. He rounds the corner and I pounce, tackling him into the snow. He laughs and we wrestle like we're kids, him gaining the upper hand once he's realized my game. He gets my arms pinned above my head, smirking down in triumph. I whip my legs out from under him and the surprise gives me enough to roll him over. We're both laughing like idiots when I emerge victorious, straddling his stomach. "Okay, okay, you win!" He concedes.

I snicker. "Let all of South Park know that the new WWE champion is Kyle Broflovski!" I make a sound like the roar of a cheering crowd.

He rolls his eyes, propping up on his elbows. "Alright, Mr. Champion. We stopped playing WWE a long time ago."

"No need to be a sore loser." I grin victoriously. He just shakes his head.

I remain atop him, the time spent there slowly turning from comradery to semi-awkward. We catch each other's eye. I think my autopilot's going haywire because our faces are suddenly much closer together than I first thought.

Am I really going to do this? Yes, I have to. He needs to know how I feel. He's staring at me, clearly unsure of my motives. Whatever amount of courage I have musters itself. I lean forward.

Our lips meet. It's definitely not our first kiss. But I'm trying to pour everything I have into it. I want him to feel every hope I've had that his touches will mean more. I want him to understand how hollow I get when he just calls me his friend. I want him to understand all the words I can't say. Actions speak louder than words, after all and I want him to know I love him.

The air around us is silent, my heart pounding in my eardrums. I'm sure he can hear it. My face is hot with all of the emotion I'm trying to convey. We remain, lips locked for a moment before I realize he's not kissing back. This is supposed to be the part where he grabs the back of my head and we kiss longer. I pull back, eyes opening to scan his face. It's confused.

He turns his head to one side and then the other, scanning for anyone around. "You really wanna do _that_ here?" That's not an 'I love you'.

I'm not entirely sure what that's meant to imply. "Wh-What?" Did I not kiss right?

"You want to fuck in public? Seems kinda risky…" He thinks that was…

My heart sinks lower than I've ever felt it. He thinks that was me inciting sex? He still doesn't get it. I stand from his body. My chest hurts, my stomach's in knots. I feel close to vomiting. I just showed him how I felt in the only way my brain would let me. And he thinks I want to fuck.

I take back what I said. I'd gladly have the hollowness of my 'friend' label back. I'd rather him touch me and it not mean anything. It sure felt better than my love being mistaken for lust.

He stands, I'm not facing him. I feel his hand on my shoulder. "If you really want to, we can try it."

My stomach winds tighter at his words. "That's not…" My voice is a whisper, not even able to finish a sentence.

"Kyle?" Oh, now he gets that something's wrong.

I give no response, just letting my subconscious start walking my body. I'm retreating into my own head again. I'm such a fucking idiot. This is worse than my own worst-case scenario of how this moment could go. I would be glad if he just didn't reciprocate my feelings, at least that I've been planning for. But to not only ignore my feelings and his thick head to just think I wanted sex. I know he can be oblivious a lot of the time, but come on.

Maybe it's my fault. I can't sack up and say the words, even now as my heart's fucking breaking. Like a moron I thought the kiss would be enough. I put everything I had into it and it didn't even scratch the surface. It was a different kiss for me, I thought he'd be able to see that.

I feel something grab my arm, it's him. "Kyle, where are you going?" His concern is pointless now.

"Go home, Stan." My voice is hollow, all emotion leeched away. He took that emotion and lost it.

His hand leaves me. "No, Kyle, talk to me."

That's the boiling point. My fists clench and white instantly. I'm so done feeling like we can ever happen. He's always just going to remain ignorant to everything I do. I could hang a mother fucking sign and he probably wouldn't understand. I'm fucking sick of hoping there can ever be anything between us. We've come so close and gotten fucking nowhere. "I'm done with you, Stan."

"Kyle, what are you talking about?" He's so confused, so blind to what's right in front of him.

Tears are stinging my eyes, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands as the muscles tighten. "I'm done feeling like this over you." My voice is surprisingly calm considering the years of pain and regret over every single moment we've spent together being for naught.

I start walking again before I hear 'Feeling like what?' I break into a sprint. I'm not turning back. If I turn back, I'll fall into the trap again. Like I've done every single time I've tried to escape it. On some level he knows I can't deny him, so I'm done letting him abuse that. I'm done examining every aspect of our relationship for any semblance of my returned affections. He's said it himself that everything he's done he hasn't felt is outside our friendship. Maybe now I'll take that at face value.

Snow crunches beneath my boots, cold air nearly freezing the streaks of water on my face. Those thoughts of just letting the football team beat me to a pulp arise and I wish Craig hadn't stopped them. Every kick and punch from those meatheads is still easier to process than the twisted sense of betrayal that's dragging my heart into my stomach.

I think he's following me, but I don't care. He can stand outside and freeze to death at this point. I would never have to face him again. I would never have to remember that my vulnerability is just desire to him. I could just go on with my life and pretend I never let myself feel this way about him. I've grown to be quite good at that.

* * *

 **KeruKeru: I hope I was able to convey how heartbroken Kyle was and why he feels that way. I am very self-conscious when I write scenes like this so please let me know what you all thought. Constructive criticism is always welcome as I'm continuously trying to enhance my skills as a writer. Also, a quick shout out to last chapter's reviewers: blueneko8, spiceypepper and rawr.**


	6. He's a Constant

**KeruKeru: Hello, everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long. My school is on a trimester schedule so I took a couple weeks off to get back into the rhythm! I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

6\. He's a Constant

" _You want to do that here?"_ The memory of his words has been with me, haunting me since Christmas. The confusion and utter lack of understanding of my revealing actions grates on my brain and has left a sour taste in my mouth. I've never felt so empty. Maybe seeing a shrink isn't a bad idea.

The first thing I got after returning home from the park was a text from him. I ignored it. I sobbed into my pillow until I couldn't bring myself to cry any longer. I told him I was done with him. It's not that easy. I can never be done with Stan. No matter how hard I try to get his face out of my mind, it's always there, smiling at me.

He's tried multiple times to talk to me, often coming to my house. It's ironic, really. When he was avoiding me, I couldn't even bring myself to go over to his house. And now that roles are reversed he's showing more drive to mend our relationship. He doesn't understand that it can never be mended. I tell my mom to send him away every time he arrives or I just don't answer the door. She never asks why and I'm grateful.

I hate myself for being so broken up over him. I don't want to feel like this is my fault, but I know somehow it is. I was the dipshit who thought I could make him love me. I was the asshole who got giddy every time we touched. And now I'm the cliché teen, lost in a river of angst over someone I never truly had to begin with.

It's weirdly fitting that I'm the one who doesn't get to be happy. I've second-guessed every part of my life right down to whether I write a period or an exclamation, usually opting for the former. They all seem to blow up in my face one way or the other. Even those decisions that start out making me happy, like being with Stan, I just end up heartbroken.

The sick thing is that I don't even blame Stan for the way I feel. It all comes down to me and my assumption I could be with him. In hindsight that was an awful thing to assume, but they do say assuming 'makes an ass out of you and me'. Apparently this time it was just the 'me'.

Stan's not looking distraught over this. Granted, I don't pay much attention to him now that I've vacated all my usual seats in favor of the back of all the classes we share. He doesn't seem happy, which is a petty victory for me, but I don't see any telltale signs of his agitation. Even when he comes to my door every day after school, he's kind and courteous with my mother. I think he's trying to talk to me out of pity. Maybe he finally realized what I was trying to tell him and has come to let me down easy. Whatever, it's not important or worth it to worry about anymore.

I keep a straight face out in public, one they're all used to seeing. I think Wendy and Kenny just think we're fighting again. My mom can tell there's something amiss, her motherly instincts are keen like that, but I'm not telling her. I'm not telling anyone. It would hardly matter. They'd all just tell me to talk to him because he's obviously trying.

It's not that simple. If I talk to him, I'll fall into the bear trap that was our friendship because even if I want to be done with these feelings for him, I'm not. I'm putty in his hands and no matter how oblivious he may seem to that, he knows it.

I've thought about getting rid of his sketchbooks, burning them like he wanted. Every time I bring myself to it, I chicken out. It wouldn't be right. Even deep down where my stomach wrings itself in knots, I know it wouldn't be right. They hurt to keep, but I'm used to this pain by now. My feelings won't let me subject him to the same fate. I bet he's stopped drawing me.

I go out of my way to make sure we don't run into each other in the halls. I wait an extra minute for our classes to vacate before leaving, then take major roundabouts just to keep away. I've been late to class a couple times, but it's worth it when I don't have to see him.

My one regret in all this is that I've lost my best friend because I'm a moron. I don't get to spend time playing video games with him, watching movies, watching him draw. I'm left to my own thoughts and they're nowhere near what hanging out with Stan was like. We didn't even spend New Year's together like we normally do. And it's all because I had to let my feelings get the better of me instead of choking them back like I should've. I ruined the greatest friendship I'll ever have.

These are the thoughts that plague me now when I'm at school, actively avoiding him. Like right now. I'm eating lunch in the library like I have been since classes resumed after the New Year. What's odd though is that I've been joined at lunch by Butters and Craig. I've never told anybody about my hiding place. It's not exactly a state secret, but I never expected anyone to be here with me.

Butters is rubbing his fists together in a fit of utter anxiety. I can't figure out why, though the stunning lack of Kenny McCormick is enough to make me believe that's the reason. Craig on the other hand seems more despondent than usual. His head's down on the table and he doesn't even have his headphones in his ears. Craig Tucker without music is not a Craig Tucker I like knowing.

Wallowing in my own self-pity won't answer the questions I'm dying to ask, so I venture forth. "Uhh… Butters, shouldn't you be eating with… someone else?" Unbeknownst to them, they're both about to be my ticket out of my pity party, at least for long enough to distract me from it.

The blonde jumps at the sound of his name. "Huh? Oh… well… well, no…" His head droops low. "Kenny's mighty… He's mighty sore at me…" This is the most dejected I've ever seen Butters in the history of our knowing each other. He's on the verge of tears when he speaks and if my heart weren't already broken, he would've done the trick.

I take a deep breath. "Care to talk about it?"

"He… He says he's… dis-disapp-pointed in me…" I can hear the sniffles starting to rise. God damn, what the hell did Kenny do to him?

I reach out for the usually cheery blonde, trying to comfort him by rubbing his arm. "Dude, I'm sure Kenny doesn't mean it." Actually, I'm positive the opposite is true. It takes quite a bit to anger Kenny McCormick so if Butters is this broken up, shit must've hit the fan. "Why is he disappointed in you?"

Butters lifts his head, eyes bleary and bloodshot. There are tears streaming down his face. "He sa-says I don't g-got a backbone!" He sniffles, wiping his sleeve along his nose. "He wan-nts me to stick… stick up fo-for myself with m-m-my folks…" Oh. "A-And I can't d-do that, Kyle!"

I can only imagine the way that conversation would go between Butters and his parents. They'd probably ground him for eternity and that would be a lenient punishment. "I think Kenny's just worried about you, dude. None of us like seeing the way they treat you." I don't know who I'm including in 'us'.

"I-I know…" He sniffles again. His breathing is coming in less haggard as the initial fit of crying has ebbed away. "I just c-can't."

I'm trying to think of a different approach. I want to help him. He and Kenny are so cute. Their relationship has kept me going since everything with Stan. I don't want that to go belly up. "Why is he so insistent on you standing up to them?" That seems like a good place to start.

A tear falls from his cheek. He looks like a puppy that just got kicked and I can't understand how Kenny would stay mad at that face. "Well… He sn-snuck into my room o-one night last week… It was re-really fun… Then my dad walked in… We were ki-kissing…" He bites his lip, tears suddenly flowing again. "My dad threw… he threw him out and to-told him to never come back… Then my f-folks put ba-bars on my windows to keep K-Kenny out…" His breathing is picking up.

I can't even imagine Kenny's reaction to not being able to sneak into Butters' room anymore. But to put bars on your own son's window. What the actual fuck? "So what made Kenny fly off the deep end?" Other than being tossed out on the street and barred from seeing his boyfriend.

Butters wipes at his eyes with the wrist of his sleeve, it does little. "He… He wanted to… He wanted me to run away… He told me to te-tell them to go t-to hell and leave…" That sounds like Kenny. "He said he'd t-take me in… but I ca-can't do that, any of it!"

I think part of this stems from Butters not wanting to impose on the McCormicks, not that Kenny's parents would be the most receptive to their relationship in the first place. "You don't want to be a burden on them, do you?"

His watery eyes fall to his lap. "K-Kenny doesn't… He doesn't have a lot… I c-can't as-sk him to give-give up that li-little bit for me… His si-sister is m-more important than I am…" I don't think that's true to Kenny. Talking this out seems to be calming him, for now anyway.

"Butters, let me talk to him after school, alright? We can get this whole thing straightened out." I try to give him my most convincing smile. Truthfully, I'm not sure how receptive he'll be. Kenny can be a stubborn asshole, Butters' crying is evidence of that. There's no shame in trying.

The blonde's smile is ruined by those bleary eyes. "Tha-Thanks Kyle… you really don't ha-have to though…"

I offer a shrug. "I know I don't have to, but you two are my friends and I want to help." Since I can't be helped with my own self-ruined love life.

Butters seems content, if not still sniffle-y. He wipes at his nose with his sleeve again.

I turn to the other object of dejection at the table. "What's with you, Tucker?"

"Fuck off, Broflovski." He just flips me the bird without lifting his head.

Yeah, something's going on between him and Tweek. "I guess we're the fucking Lonely Hearts Club then." I try to break the somber mood of the table with a joke. Butters giggles, but Craig doesn't respond. One out of two isn't bad.

Suddenly someone grabs my arm and starts to pull me up. Purple nail polish? "Sorry boys, I'm stealing Kyle." Wendy's not even joking. She nearly picks me up from the table and drags me off.

"Wendy, what the fuck?!" I struggle to get out of her grip, but it only tightens, blood circulation being cut off. "Oww, shit, let go!" She only releases because we've stopped. We're in the dustiest part of the library I've ever seen. The books are covered in cobwebs and the air is stale. Even the janitors don't come back here to clean. I glare at her. "For the last time, I'm not joining your GSA."

Her eyes roll. "I'm not here to talk about that."

"Then what?"

She crosses her arms over her chest, reflecting a glare right back at me. "You know what this is about. You're going to talk to Stan." Yeah, saw that coming.

I chuckle dryly. "Yeah, fat chance of that, happening."

Her manicured fist clenches. "Quit with the dramatics, Kyle, you're both distraught over whatever pointless argument you've had this week. I know he's tried getting through to you."

I growl back my response. "It's not 'pointless'. You don't know shit!"

"I know you're not talking to each other." She's unaffected by my tone.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, Garrison even knows we're not fucking talking to each other. What do you even care? If it's so pointless to you, what difference does it make?" Where was this care when _he_ was avoiding _me_? "Did Stan make you do this?"

She sighs. "No, he didn't. You two are both acting like children and I hate seeing my friends fight like this. You're supposed to be best friends, but these past few months it's just been one fight after another." Wendy shakes her head in exasperation. "If you're really this upset about your feelings for him, just tell him."

My fingers curl into a fist. No, choke it back. "That's what this is about!" I'm trying to keep a level head. It's not working well. "All of this isn't pointless!" The anger I've felt toward Stan this whole time is starting to bubble up and I'm almost sorry it has to be Wendy it's released on. "Fuck you, Wendy!"

She blinks in shock, I've never spoken to her like this before. "Kyle, I-"

"No! Shut up!" I'm seething and tears are starting to burn at the corners of my eyes. "I fucking tried to tell him! I couldn't say it because I'm a fucking coward so I kissed him." She doesn't know what our relationship evolved to so the kiss will be straight out of left field. "He just looked at me like he didn't fucking get it. I poured everything I could into it and all he thought it was…" I bite back the last of my words, grabbing hold of the reins for as long as I can hold them. "You don't know what's going on between us. You never did."

She's just watching me, stunned. Either at my outburst, the kiss, all of it probably. "I never would've guessed you'd… done that…"

"Yeah, well, I did." I'm really keeping my cool for the time being.

"… I always knew about you two…"

The words cool my rage like an ice pack. She… She knew?

My face must be as bewildered as I think it is because she gives me a sort of sad smile. "Neither of you were very good at hiding it. I always kind of knew you were doing something behind my back. Stan was always too eager to see you after we fooled around. Knowing how you felt about him only really confirmed it for me." Her voice isn't full of malice like I always imagined it would be.

I let my head fall. "Then I _was_ the reason you broke up…"

"Like I said back then, not entirely." She steps in closer, hands on my shoulders. "Stan and I were never meant to work, Kyle. He's always had his heart set on you, regardless of how he shows it. I mean, why else would he pick you to cheat on me with when he could have any two-bit whore at this school?" Is that supposed to make me feel better?

"Gee, thanks." I shrug her off. The anger's starting to come back. "If he's so 'in love' with me, then why is he completely oblivious to everything I do? Christmas was just one of many times I've tried to get him to understand how I feel and he just thinks I wanna fuck him." That's not even close to true, but I want her to feel bad right now.

She frowns. "You and I both know Stan's not the best at picking up on emotion." She catches herself. "Or expressing it. But he's different with you. You make him happy."

"But I don't care if he's happy!" That's a lie. "I want to be the one who's happy for once!" My fists shake like I'm going to punch something. "I'm so fucking sick of putting him first and I can't even stop myself!" I don't want to put him first anymore.

Wendy's obviously worried about me, she tries a comforting hand again, but I shoo it away. "Kyle, just tell him how you feel! Actually tell him this time!"

"No!" I glare daggers at her. "I'm so sick of feeling like this and I just never want to see him again. If you were really my friend, you'd stop trying to fix something that I broke and just let it die!" I shove past her, too angry to really care at this point. "If you need me, I'll be helping my _real_ friends." God, I really do sound like a child.

I make it a point to go back to the table and grab my lunch, reassuring Butters of my intentions of talking to Kenny for him before I stomp out of the library. I need to cool off, need to think. The library's not the place for that.

I notice Tweek standing at his locker as I pass. It's open. There's a crumpled up drawing of him and Craig that he must've saved from one of the Japanese girls. He's just staring at it. "Uuh… Tweek?"

He jumps at the mention of his name, whirling around. "Oh, ngh… Kyle." There are dark rings under his eyes, darker than usual. Is this kid somehow sleeping even less than normal?

"Something wrong?" I remember Craig laying his head down in the library without his music.

He twitches, wringing his wrists nervously. There's no Tucker to stop him. "Ngh… Everything's f-fine!" That's a bold-faced lie.

I raise an eyebrow questioningly. "You know, Craig's in the library. He kinda looks like shit." Shitier than usual, anyway.

"G-Good!"

Obviously I resonate with that. But I really don't want anyone else going through my petty hell. Someone deserves to be happy if not me. "You should go talk to him. He's not even listening to music."

Tweek stares at me in astonishment. "O-Oh! Shit… ngh…" He's shivering with anxiety. "I'll se-see ya ngh… later Kyle." He races off for the library. I suppose that's one fire out and I didn't even know what their problem was.

* * *

I've added Wendy to my list of avoidees, switching up my seat in calculus now that we're no longer talking. She doesn't even pay me a second glance when she walks in. Part of me is hurt, but the rest of me is still furious and uncaring. She has no right to tell me what to do or stick her nose into our business…regardless of if we cheated on her. She doesn't get it, she never would.

I make it through the last few periods without much hassle and beeline for the exit and my mom's car. Kenny's house is where I drive to. I don't really feel safe leaving the car in this part of the neighborhood, too many drug addicts around. But I need to help Butters and Kenny.

I knock at the McCormicks' door and wait. There's a scream of 'Kenny get the door' and then before me is my friend. He looks haggard and I realize he wasn't actually at school today. Did he skip? "Hey."

He blinks in surprise at my being on his front step. "Uh, hey…" He steps aside for me to enter.

I love Kenny like a brother, but his home smells rank. Stale beer and cigarettes. I wish he'd let me put him up in our house for a while. His damn pride won't let him. "Didn't see you at school today." I enter, despite my nose telling me to vacate immediately.

"Yeah, I had to work. The repair shop gave me a shift they weren't supposed to, but I really couldn't afford to give it up." The door latches behind me.

I nod, standing awkwardly. I don't like Kenny's house much. But he and Butters have to stay together! "I talked to Butters today."

His face drops immediately. "If you're here to try and get us back together, you can stop right there." His arms cross, glaring, but I don't think it's directed at me.

"Dude, he was crying. It looked like someone kicked a puppy! How can you be mad at him?" Very easily, I imagine, but he still should forgive him.

"Because I am. How can you be mad at Stan?" The name makes me wince.

"Because."

He snickers, anger still evident in his eyes. "Good, then I guess we understand each other."

I shake my head. "No, Stan and I were never where you two are. You're just pissed at Butters because his dad kicked you out."

"Fuck off, Kyle, that's not why I'm mad."

My eyes roll. "Then why did you make him cry? He's really hurting."

Kenny huffs. "I didn't mean to make him cry… I fucking hate that I did. But I'm tired of seeing his parents walk all over him." His eyes darken at that. "He does nothing to stop it."

"Dude, that's just how Butters is… We've all done it to him." I don't like admitting that, but it's true. He's too trusting for his own good half the time.

He glares, this time it is directed at me. "You think I don't know that? I hate remembering how we treated him as kids. Cartman was the worst, but you and Stan weren't any better. And I just let it happen…" I never knew he took it so hard.

I try to offer a hand in comfort but he just shrugs it away. "So why are you so pissed at him for this? His parents have more power over him than we ever did. It's not an easy thing to fight." Especially when the fighter is a lovable pushover.

"I thought by now he'd have gained more of a backbone!" Kenny growls back, realizing his tone and containing himself. "I tried to help him stand up to them, way too many times. He doesn't and just accepts his punishment like he's a fucking criminal!" His fists clench, fury toward the Stotchs evident. "They put fucking bars on his window and do you know what he said? 'At least we can still see each other at school'."

I stare at him in surprise. God, the way Butters was acting, I assumed Kenny was just being an ass about it. That's harsh even for Butters. "That's fucked up…" I find myself saying. "Even so, I think he's just making the best of a bad situation." I'm trying to help Butters, but he didn't leave me a lot to work with.

Kenny laughs at me sardonically. "I don't want 'the best of a bad situation'. I want him to realize what a shitty situation he has and stop excusing his parents for abusing him."

"Punishment and abuse are two separate things, Kenny."

He socks me hard in the arm with no warning. I wince and rub at the spot. "Fuck you. You've never seen his body. Why do you think he always wears longer clothes?" I've never really noticed before, but now that he mentions it. "I've seen the bruises they leave on him. Leo's pretty klutzy, but I know the difference between tripping and getting punched in the gut."

Some friend I am… I don't even notice when one of them is getting the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis… "He's probably too scared of them to tell them off. You haven't told off your folks yet."

"No, fuck you. You know I can't. I have people other than me that depend on me staying here. I tell them off, Karen goes hungry." Kenny's glare intensifies. If looks could kill, I think the rats would be nibbling on me by now. "That's why I told him to just pack a bag and run. Do something to show they don't control him. I said I'd put him up if he did." Kenny's leer seems like it's on the verge of tears, but he'd never let me see him cry.

I remember Butters blubbering earlier. _"I can't do that!"_ "You and I both know he doesn't want to impose on you."

"It wouldn't be an imposition."

"To him it is." Kenny stares at me blankly. "Butters told me he doesn't want to be in the way of you taking care of Karen. He wants your attention to be on her and not him."

Kenny shakes his head. "Karen's fine though! We both are. Sure we might have it rough for a while with another mouth to feed, but I'd make due."

I frown. It feels like we're not getting anywhere. "He doesn't want it to be rough for you. He's too good of a person to let you take care of anyone but your sister."

"That still doesn't change the fact that he lets his parents kick the shit out of him!"

I finally fire a glare back. "So did you, for a while at least. You were in his position when we were kids. You let your dad use you as a punching back."

I worry he's about to punch me again as his fists shake with anger. "I told you to never fucking bring that up!" His jaw clenches.

"You did. But you're being a hypocrite. Why do you get to excuse it for taking care of Karen and he can't do the same?" I've got him now.

He's seething. I take a cautious step back on the off chance he wants to hit me. "Because it's not the same! You don't fucking get it! I love that little Melvin and I can't stand seeing him get beat up!" He blinks in realization at what he just said, it turns back to anger in seconds. "Maybe if Stan got the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis, you'd understand."

I scoff at that. "If you really loved him, you'd stop trying to force him to be someone he's not."

"I really don't need any lectures on love from you, of all people."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs. "It means you're a fucking disaster with this, Kyle. You can't even tell Stan you're in love with him. And now, for whatever reason, I have to talk him down from breaking through your door just to talk to you. You're no better at this shit than I am. At least what I want is better for Leo. You're just being a selfish prick with Stan."

My teeth grind at his words. "You don't know shit about Stan and I."

"You didn't know shit about Leo and I, but here you are trying to make me the bad guy." I can't really argue that.

I think I'm the one who's about to punch Kenny. "I'm trying to keep two of my friends from losing each other."

"How fucking noble." He brushes me off. "You want to be a hero so you don't have to wallow in your little pity party anymore. Good for you. I'm so grateful for your lack of service." From the outside, you wouldn't really recognize us as friends with the biting comments, but sometimes I need Kenny to be blunt to point out how much of an ass I'm being.

It's not helping at this point. "I'm not trying to be a hero, Kenny. I just don't want you to give up on Butters like I have on Stan." Oh, maybe it did. I take a moment to replay what I've just said. "I'm done tormenting myself over him. As done as I can be and it fucking sucks."

Kenny blinks. "Dude… I thought…" We've both chilled out.

"Seeing you or Butters go through that is going to be hell. Butters crying from you being mad is hard enough to take without breaking down." I realize how selfish it sounds to want them together just so I don't have to be reminded of what I lost, but in the end, I really do want them to stay together.

He nods solemnly. "You and Stan being assholes to each other is kinda ruining our mood too." His joke is hollow, but it brings a slight smile to my face.

I shake my head, chuckling a little. "Look, I'll try to convince Butters to come live at my house for a while. At least get him out of his."

Kenny's smile is genuine, if still small. "I can pitch in for his food if you want."

"No, don't worry. My mom loves having him. She'd probably adopt him if she got the chance." We share a chuckle at that. Our teen rage is completely dissipated. It's a wonder what being douche bags to one another can do to a friendship.

The knock at the door surprises us both. From the kitchen I hear Kenny's mother scream "Kenny, get the door" as she had when I knocked. She sounds drunk and slurred as usual.

Kenny's eyes just roll at the awful norm he has to deal with. He walks to the door and checks the peephole. He stiffens instantly. "Something wrong?" He doesn't say anything before nearly ripping the door off its hinges.

Butters is standing at the door, fists rubbing together in their adorably anxious way. We both stare at him. He's biting his lip nervously. "K-Kenny…" He can only get out his boyfriend's name before Kenny embraces him. Butters is taken off guard, not hugging back at first until he realizes he's not being let go. "I-I thought you said we… we couldn't do this here…"

Kenny doesn't respond, arms only closing in tighter. I take the time to understand why. Butters' cheek has an evident purple mark, just about the size of someone's palm. Did they hit him again? I can hear Kenny's voice. "You brought a duffle bag."

I try to look around the two and sure enough there is a loaded duffle bag on the front step. "I r-ran away…" Butters' voice is uneasy, nuzzling into Kenny. I really can't get over how cute the two are.

They finally detach. I'm sure they want to do more than hug now, but it's not exactly the place for that. "What made you decide to leave?"

Butters blinks, I think he's surprised I'm here. I did tell him I'd talk to Kenny for him. "I couldn't stand Kenny being sore at me…" He wilts at the thought. "And my folks… they wanted to send me to some b-boarding school… I didn't want to go."

"Leo, you're not going to a fucking boarding school." Kenny assures, taking Butters' hand in his own. "You're staying here."

"N-No! I can't stay here! What about Karen?!" Butters is suddenly terrified. "You need to take care of her!"

Kenny rolls his eyes at the good nature of his boyfriend. "We're fine, Leo, really."

I decide to cut in. "No, Kenny, he's right. He can't stay here." The two eye me. Butters' face is more questioning than Kenny's. "He's staying with me, remember? I promised."

"Kyle, I can't impose! I was just gonna stay at the homeless shelter for a while…" Because that's a better plan than living with either of us.

I shake my head. "Butters, I've told you before. My parents love having you. My mom would keep you in a heartbeat given your situation. You can stay with us as long as you need." I probably shouldn't be promising that without talking to my parents, but they've always been understanding.

He bites his lip. "Really, Kyle, I have everything figured out."

"No, you're not staying at a homeless shelter." Kenny cuts in. "You have two options. My house or Kyle's." He's being strict, but he's not letting Butters wiggle out of this.

Said blonde can't rub his fits together as much as he'd clearly like to, but soon concedes. "I-I'll stay with Kyle, then…" He still doesn't want to be a bother to Kenny.

"Great! I'll help you move in!" Kenny leads Butters out the door by the hand and takes the duffle bag up in the other.

I chuckle at the two and follow them out, shutting the McCormicks' door behind me as we head for my car. It takes more reassurance to get Butters in. The drive to my house is short and full of even more promises that Butters is welcome. Before I can even stop the car, Kenny is practically dragging Butters and the duffle bag out.

I roll my eyes at the two and park the car in its spot in the garage. They're already inside. Neither mom, dad, nor Ike is home from what I can tell. Odd given I had moms car, where are they? Oh well. "You guys know where the guest room is." I usher them upstairs before comprehending what I just offered. "And no sex on the bed!" I yell after them like I'm their mother. They'll probably ignore me anyway. I'd ignore that from my mom under the right circumstances.

Someone raps at the door. I don't even get five minutes to myself. I already know who it is and I'm tempted to leave him standing outside yet again. Kenny calling me selfish comes to mind. I don't owe him an explanation, but I can at least see what he wants.

My hand hesitates at the doorknob. The knocking comes again. I grasp the brass knob and turn. As expected, Stan is before me. Shock is clear on his face that I'm the one to answer the door. "Hi."

"Hello." I respond in the most displeased tone I can muster.

He just stands awkwardly, staring at me. "Can I come in?"

I shrug. "I guess you could, but I'm not going to let you." Ah, the high road, I never knew you.

He rolls his eyes, not at all happy about my response. "You could try to be less of a dick."

"Could and will aren't the same thing."

"God, cut the shit, Kyle, I just wanna talk. You owe me that much." His brow furrows crossly.

I have to laugh at that. "I don't owe you jack shit, Stan. I told you I was done with you. Now, goodbye." I move to shut the door but his boot is suddenly between it and the jamb. He pushes it back open without much effort and shoves past. "I told you no!" I attempt to push him back out, it does nothing.

"No, we're talking about this." He takes off his coat and hangs it on the usual peg like he's staying for a while.

I take the coat and hand it right back to him. "We're not talking about anything."

He doesn't take the coat and just lets it fall to the ground. "Why have you been avoiding me?" He's completely ignoring my desire for him to leave.

"Hurts, doesn't it? This? This is what it feels like when you super best friend suddenly decides to cut you out." I want to hurt him with my words. This has been a long time coming.

He glares. "Fuck you, I thought I raped you. That's different."

"You wouldn't talk to me because you thought I'd have you arrested. You didn't bother to find out how I felt about it all, just left me in the dark. Well, I'm returning the favor. Now get the fuck out." I open the door and gesture him out of it. He doesn't budge.

He shakes his head. "God, you've got a lot of fucking nerve. You want me to say it? I was scared. I'm sorry. It's been months and I'm still kicking myself over it."

"Good, now get out."

"No, I'm staying." His arms are crossed over his chest indignantly. "We're sorting this out here and now because I'm tired of all of this shit, Kyle."

I slam the door. The anger is starting to bubble up again. That's the third time today. They do say all good things come in threes. "There's nothing to sort out. We're done."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly the problem. You don't ever want to talk about anything. You just throw one of your hissy fits and storm off like a fucking child." He's right, but I'm not going to let him know that.

"That's because I don't see the point in talking about it. You don't understand anyway."

"How the fuck do you expect me to understand when you never tell me what's wrong? I'm not a fucking mind reader! I mean, the art show. You got mad at me for not understanding how I was sending you mixed signals and just ran off without another word." He sighs. "And then on Christmas… you just left me there. I still don't know what I did…"

My finger nails dig into the palm of my clenched hand. "That's why! You don't fucking understand. You never do! I don't have the energy to keep spelling it out for you!" I'm so sick of this. My stomach's in tighter knots than it was this morning.

"Spelling what out?" Shocking, he still doesn't get it.

I shake my head. "Never mind, you wouldn't understand."

"Goddammit, Kyle. Just fucking tell me why you left me in the park!"

"I'm in love with you, you asshole!" The room is suddenly a lot quieter than I remember it being. Neither of us is talking, just staring. I feel like I just lifted up out of my body and was watching my own confession take place. I finally fucking said it.

He's the first to speak. "You're… in love with me?"

My fists relax for the time being. The knots in my stomach are starting to loosen. It did feel good to finally tell him. "Yes, I am. I couldn't really say it until now. I wouldn't let myself. I'm tired of feeling like this about you. You don-" My words are cut off by his lips.

I'm reeling as our lips clash. Every nerve in my body is singing at his touch. The touch I've wanted so badly. All my body has craved is him and he's the only thing I wouldn't let it have. His hand cradles the back of my head, making sure I don't escape. I don't want to. I want to stay here. I want to stay with him.

It clicks in my mind what's happening. The trap is closing in around me all over again. I won't let it. Not this time. I've wasted too much time keeping it at bay. My hands are on his chest, shoving him off before I can let my body run itself. "No!" I shout as he stumbles backward. "You can't just kiss me and think it'll fix anything!" Tears are stinging my eyes. I don't care.

"Kyle…"

"I've felt this way for so long." It's all coming out now. I can't stop it. Do I want to? "You've always been the one I wanted. I can't let myself be apart from you. You forced me to come out because I can't keep secrets from you. You convinced be to blow you behind Wendy's back because I can't help but be close to you. You convinced me to be your friend with benefits because I thought it would make us a couple."

He's staring at me like I'm insane. He's not talking. Why isn't he talking?

I'm still babbling. "I fool myself into thinking you want me the same way and it all just comes crumbling down when you remind me I'm just here for your pleasure." My tear-filled eyes show hate and anger. "I'm fucking done letting this play out because it just makes me want to puke." I let my fists relax, my nails are starting to cut into my skin. Every word has made him wilt considerably. It almost makes me feel happy over my boiling temper.

His head is hung low. He doesn't speak for a while. "You never told me…"

That just sets me off again. "I fucking tried! I thought that kiss in the park would be enough to get the point across! But like always, your thick skull doesn't let anything through and all you wanted me for was sex…" My head is throbbing now. I need an Aspirin.

"Stop saying all you were for was sex!" His head lifts and he's glowering at me.

I scoff. "Why? It's true. You don't want anything e-"

"DAMMIT KYLE, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR FIVE SECONDS!" He's lost his cool. He pants, red in the face. I've only ever seen this a few times and it's never good. He must see my fear because he takes a long breath to calm himself. "You've never been 'just sex'."

Despite the fear I'm about to be pummeled, my heart thumps at his words. I don't believe them though. "Stan, you and I both know that's not true."

He shakes his head. "Maybe at first it was about that. But you've always been my best friend. I don't know why the added stuff made you think you were some kind of sex object for me to enjoy." I want to reply, but he's still trying to keep his lid on straight. "I never cared whether we fucked or not. I would've been content with us never fucking again if it's what you wanted."

He pauses so I take the opportunity. "But you wanted to keep going."

"Maybe. But if you told me you were uncomfortable like I thought you were going to, I would've understood." His accompanying smile is convincing. "The fact you said to keep going made me feel weird inside. Like, happy, but more. I didn't want to fuck up this time. And, well, I fucked up."

I raise a brow at him. "How exactly did _you_ fuck up?" Other than not understanding when I initially let my feelings show.

"I let you ignore your own wishes in my favor." His chuckle is cynical. "Some friend I am."

He really thinks it was up to him? "Stan, I've already told you why I kept it all going." I'm the one who's fucked up. You're just oblivious.

"Say what you want, but I abuse our friendship too much for this to not be my fault."

"You don't abuse anything."

He nods. "Yes, I do. I take advantage of the fact you're so willing to do anything for me. I don't take your actual feelings into account." Oh, so he does notice it. I've always wondered.

I want to agree, but I hold it back. "I'm not exactly free of blame. I just kinda let it happen and deal with the consequences later. Or don't, in this case." I feel his arms around me before I see them. We're pressed together in a hug. I realize I've missed his hugs. I've missed just being near him all together. I let myself indulge for the time being.

"Date me." The words are so quiet, I almost don't hear them.

"What?"

He chuckles in my ear. "Date me. I want to be with you, Kyle."

My face heats up instantly. This can't actually be real. "I must be dreaming. Real Stan wouldn't say that." There's a sharp pinch at my back and I yelp.

"You're not dreaming." He pulls back, arms still around me.

I can't look into those blue eyes. "Stan, you don't want to date me."

"Yeah, I do."

"No you don't!" I really can't give myself a break.

"I don't know where you're getting that from, but I definitely do." He gives me that Stan smile and my heart thumps in response.

"Why? You're not even gay." As if that's supposed to stop him.

He seems to consider this point for a second. "I'm not. Not entirely anyway. I do know I'm at least Kyle-sexual. So there's that." He grins, our previous fight long forgotten.

This is exactly where I didn't want to be. Falling into this trap. But it doesn't feel like a trap this time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it is. But right here, right now, it's not. "That was super lame." I let myself chuckle stupidly.

He joins in my laughter. "Yeah, I think I heard something like it from a movie. Thought it sounded romantic."

I'm just waiting for the dream to melt away, so I'll play along. "It sounded really cheesy."

"Still got the point across." He grins triumphantly.

"I still don't get why you want to date me." He watches me. "I mean, I avoided you and told you I was done with you. I would never talk to me again."

Stan snickers. "You wouldn't talk to you in the first place." Asshole. "But Kyle, you're my best friend. I may or may not be gay or even in love with you yet. But I know I want to try this."

The offer is tempting. It's exactly what I've wanted for so long. "Promise you won't cheat on me?"

"As long you promise to talk to me instead of just getting pissy." Ah, two can play at this game.

I bite my lip. This is all so fucking cliché. I must've fallen asleep while watching a rom-com or something. "Deal."

He beams, my heart only pounding more. I guess I can revel in his effect now. "Do you, Kyle, take me as your lawfully wedded-"

"We're not getting married, dude!"

"Would you just play along?!" Hearing no more retorts from me, he continues. "Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded boyfriend in sickness and in health until death parts us?"

I want to facepalm, but I notice we're still embracing. "This is so lame…"

"Kyle!"

"Fine, fine!" I huff at him. This is actually making me really giddy. "I do."

Silence passes. "Well?"

"What?"

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

I roll my eyes the instant he asks. "Stan, do you take me to be your lawfully wedded boyfriend in sickness and yadda yadda yadda?"

He squints playfully. "I do. I don't appreciate the tone, though."

"Bite me."

He smirks. "Gladly." He makes a move for my neck and laughs when I try to wriggle away. "I'm kidding, Ky. Mostly."

"Is this how you were with Wendy?" I'm kind of dying to know, not just using it as a distraction.

His brow raises. "Not really. She was the one who told me we were dating. I didn't have a lot of say in it, but I also didn't fight her on it." He shrugs at the memories. "I think you're supposed to kiss me though. That's how this works right?"

"I don't know, I've never been to a wedding where they just promised to be boyfriends." I've never been to a gay wedding, actually.

This time when he leans in, I don't stop him or push him away. It's exactly what I've wished would happen. He wants us to be together. I take in every nanosecond of the kiss to commit it all to memory. I don't want to forget this when I wake up. His soft lips, his hands roving my back, that taste of Stan. It's all being recorded.

This is the first time he's kissed me in a way that didn't signal his need for sex. I can't get over that. If this isn't a dream, I might just do a fucking backflip. My stomach is fluttering. We pull apart softly. He's staring into my eyes. "Are you positive you want this?" I can't catch the words before they leave me.

"I'm not just positive…" Oh god… "I'm HIV positive."

"Don't start that shit again." I bop him in the back of my head. "That's actually fucking terrifying now."

He chuckles, unphased by the bop. "Kyle, I promise you, this is what I want."

Just scanning his eyes tells me it's the truth. He does. As cheesy and cliché as it is, he really wants me. "Okay."

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 **KeruKeru: Again, I hope I conveyed all the emotion correctly in this chapter. Your guys' words of encouragement are wonderful and really keep me going when I get self-conscious! Thanks to all my reviewers: blueneko8, hugjujo, spiceypepper, laraneechan and jania-chan! Let me know what you thought!**


	7. I Don't Want to Wake Up

**KeruKeru: Here I am with chapter seven! I've been waiting so long to get to write this one and the next chapter, probably more excited than you guys have been to read them! Well, enjoy!**

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7\. I Don't Want to Wake Up

It's been a month and I still can't believe any of it. _"Date me."_ We're together… I'm ninety-five percent sure this is still a dream, but it's not one I ever want to wake up from. I want this warm, fuzzy feeling all the time, knowing he's mine. I've never felt so fucking happy without shit blowing up in my face. Or I never let myself be happy for the same reason. It's unnerving and wonderful and I don't want it to end.

In all reality, we're more or less like we've always been, pre-cheating on Wendy. We've always been comfortable around one another, regardless of the situation. We're literally dating our best friend which is what all the hopeless romantic crap says you're supposed to do anyway. He's so affectionate with me, taking any excuse he can to touch me… often in places he knows will get a rise out of me.

He tells me it's cute when I blush. Part of me still doesn't believe him, but it usually just makes me blush more and then he laughs and kisses me. I can't help but fall into him when he does. His kisses are probably my favorite part. I get to taste that 'Stan' flavor I've always loved. And just for the record, it does taste better with coffee.

I don't let him touch me in public. After what happened with those stupid jocks, I'm petrified of anyone seeing us together that way… I don't need another beating. He tries to tell me it's fine. I believe him, but I don't trust other people with my safety, nobody but him anyway. I think he's disappointed, but he assures me that he understands. The slight frown whenever I push the affection off is enough to make me feel guilty. I'm my own worst enemy, really.

I've asked him about him noticing other guys. He just laughs and tells me 'there are no guys but you' or something cheesy like that. Then I blush and he kisses me again. Maybe he really does like seeing me embarrassed. He's still 'Kyle-sexual' or whatever he called it. Shit, am I blushing again?

Think about something else, think about something else… Oh, Butters and Kenny. Kenny's practically moved in with my family too with how often he's over. My parents aren't Kenny's biggest fans, but so long as he doesn't smoke or drink here, they don't seem to complain. After all, they love Butters. Mom, especially. He helps her in the kitchen all the time. Her food's never been better.

Mom's tried to speak with the Stotchs about their son, but they seem apathetic to his well-being. She's said they even asked her 'who's Butters' at one point. We've made sure to keep both Butters and Kenny in the dark about this. Butters is more than happy now that he doesn't have to fear punishment outside of the house rules, I think. And Kenny doesn't need to protect him anymore. They can just be a real couple now.

Speaking of mom, her and Wendy got the GSA off the ground. I had to join out of guilt over the way I blew up at Wendy… I've apologized over and over for the way I acted. She forgives me every time and promises she isn't mad. It doesn't make me feel any better. They convinced Mr. Mackey to run the club as it needed faculty supervision.

So far it's just Wendy, Butters and I sitting around trying to figure out how to get more members. Kenny has been once, but it was mostly as a curtesy to Butters during the first meeting. We've had a few meetings since and he hasn't chosen to show up. I've attempted recruiting Tweek and Craig. Tweek seems mildly interested, but given Craig's abhorrence of anything social, I can't see them joining any time soon.

As for Stan, he doesn't know the club even exists. Or if he does, he's never talked to me about it. Honestly, I don't want him to join. He needs to keep up his image. The football season has been over for some time, but I can't be the reason he's not allowed to play anymore. He'd pretend it was fine, but it would just tear me up inside that he's not getting mad at me for it. So I keep it away from him as best I can.

Wendy and Butters couldn't decide who would lead the club. Butters insisted it be Wendy since it was her idea. Wendy insisted it be Butters since she thought an actually gay president would be better than some straight girl. To compromise, they're co-presidents. Technically, one is the president, the other is a vice president where the paperwork is concerned. They've kindly left me out of most of the decision making for the club, I'm there for my own conscience.

Now that the second half of our junior year is underway, I've begun researching colleges I'd like to attend. It's not that I wasn't before, only now it actually means something because we need to think about applications soon. Of course, because I'm so infatuated with Stan, I'm looking at schools for him too. Preferably relatively close to one another. Brown University seems promising for me.

It's far as fuck away from South Park which is a major plus. Their law program is internationally known. I have a good deal of money left over from the inheritance my grandparents left for tuition. Nowhere near the sum I need, but it's a start. I can't apply for any loans with my credit being fucked from when I bailed South Park out of debt. How does a nine year old even get a credit card? My chances of federal money are just as slim with my dad's income coupled with the lack of credit. It's all really fucked up.

As for Stan, I think Boston College is a good fit for him. They have a shitty football team according to the internet, but I'm sure he can help that. Plus they have an entire fine arts department. And it's only about an hour or so from Brown. That's assuming either of us get into the schools. Or that we even stay together after high school, after this school year even.

God, what am I doing? I can't be putting this kind of pressure on our relationship when it's so young… I'm not even sure if it's real yet. Any second I feel like I could wake up on Christmas morning and it's all been a sick dream. I hate this feeling so much.

I think Stan can sense my sudden agitation. He's on my bed, new sketchbook in hand while I'm at the desk on my laptop. "You know, it's called a laptop for a reason. It's meant to be on your lap while you're cuddling your boyfriend." He tries to lighten my mood. It works, of course.

I don't turn to reply. "Well, I'm just trying to figure out things for the future. You don't exactly lend yourself to assisting either of us in that." In fact, I know exactly what we'd be doing if I were over there. It would have little to do with college and involve less clothing.

I can practically hear his eyes roll. "You seem to make a lot of excuses to not want to touch me, Ky."

"You say that like I actually _don't_ want to." I'd gladly have his hands all over me, mine roving him, distracting me from this self-induced anxiety. This is more important, however.

I hear the sketchbook being set down, I don't turn. He's padding softly toward me like I can't hear him. His arms come around my neck from behind. He leans into my ear. "We're not in public anymore, Ky. I can touch you to my heart's content." His voice is husky and I can feel all the blood rushing to my groin faster with each word. He reaches and shuts my laptop.

"Stan… We need to be figuring out our future." My voice is small and unconvincing. I'm not exactly intent on stopping his treatment.

He chuckles, breath tickling my ear. I'm red as all hell. "I think you can imagine what I see in our future." His teeth barely graze the skin of my earlobe and my body tenses. He bites, I moan. Fuck him. He's gotten too good at understanding my body.

I try to make myself seem reluctant. "Staaaaaaaan…" I whine, he knows I don't want him to stop. He bites me again and I stifle this moan to the best of my abilities. He's too good at this game, not that I'm complaining.

My body follows his orders, standing. His arms lower to my waist as he switches ears, my head tilting into the attention. He loves working me up, I think it's his favorite part. We walk, carefully, to my bed. His lips move to my neck. I can feel him smirk when I shiver at the contact. He bites again. My hand finds the back of his head, fisting in black hair and keeping him at my neck. The free hand entwines its fingers with one of his.

This is probably the fourth or fifth time this week he's caught me getting stressed and damn does he know how to keep my nagging thoughts at bay. He covers my neck in gentle kisses before his teeth sink in and my groin throbs inside my sweats. He presses himself against me, bulge evident through his own sweatpants. Thank god we were just lounging, I don't think I could deal with a zipper right now.

He's biting again, sucking the spots too. I love when he claims my neck. I'll need to cover the purple splotches, but they help remind me that I'm his, as if I'd forget. I let out a muffled groan, trying to keep a low profile so my family doesn't hear us. I have a real problem with volume when we get like this. Stan loves it, I'm sure.

Before I can register his teeth have left my neck, I find myself facing him. My cheeks are hot and surely red. He smirks. Smug asshole. And without warning he pushes me back on the bed. He quickly follows, climbing atop me.

Our lips clash instantly, his tongue wasting no time in entering my mouth. I think I gasp, but it's silenced by his tongue. That Stan taste is easily quelling all of my earlier anxiety. His tongue rolls over mine and mine over his, we're both hungry for each other. He readjusts slightly, but it's enough for our groins to make contact.

My hands grip at his shirt, tugging us closer. I want it off him, but I really don't want to stop kissing him right now. He seems to find a solution to the same problem as a warm hand creeps its way under my shirt, brushing over my bare skin. Another sharp exhale against him. I'm still not used to him touching me this way, I don't know if I ever will be.

He lifts, eliciting a whine from me. He's still smirking like a pompous ass, proud of himself. His shirt is up over his head and on the floor behind him. I can take this moment to explore his toned torso. His abs are faintly defined, pecs too. His arms though, they're so strong. I love when he wraps them around me. Every inch of him is perfect. Stan chuckles. "I should really be used to you staring at me by now." Fuck.

"S-Sorry…" I don't know why I'm apologizing. I'm allowed to look. It's all mine after all.

He shakes his head. "Dude, don't say sorry. That's your right as the boyfriend to get to look!" Stan smiles and my heart skips a beat like always. "Though, it is kinda funny to watch you drool like that."

Shit! "Just shut up and go back to kissing me." Now I'm self-conscious about looking at him. He doesn't move. "Come on!"

"Take off your shirt."

"I don't want to…" He's seen me shirtless so many times before and yet I still feel like ever time we're intimate like this, my scrawny-ass body is gonna make him run for the hills. Especially when it turns pink.

He just chuckles, leaning back over me. "You can take it off, or I can take it off." His voice is soft but the threat is evident.

I make quick work of the garment. The last time he took it off I lost a shirt… He replaced it, but still. I'm left shirtless beneath him, my embarrass-o-meter off the charts now. My torso is as pink as I thought it would be, as pink as it always is when we're like this. "I don't get it…"

He's drinking me in when my voice brings him back to reality. "What don't you get?"

I can't really look at him, playing with the covers on my bed. "I'm not all that sexy… I'm just thin and weird…" If I were taller, I'd be just as lanky as Tweek. Thankfully that's not the case.

"You're thin, weird and sexy." He says it so matter-of-factly. "Besides, I've never wanted to fuck anyone more than I've wanted to fuck you.

I roll my eyes. "Such a romantic sentiment." Though it does bring a little smile to my face.

He notices and smirks, leaning back over me. I can feel his breath on my face. I venture a look into those sapphire eyes. "You're sexy as hell to me. You don't have to agree because I already know it's a fact." It's not the words I want him to say, but I know he's not there yet. It makes my stomach all fluttery again.

Even with the good feelings, I'm never sure of myself. "I mean, you're obviously hot… I might be bias, but it's the truth." I want to go back to kissing him. "Am I thinking about this too much?"

He rolls the idea around in his head for a moment. "No, it's about the right amount for you, I think." I try to pout, but his smile disarms me. "Kyle, whether you believe it or not, you're the hottest person I know. I may not fully understand myself, but I know that's true." He plants a soft kiss on my cheek. The spot tingles. "I mean, you couldn't make me this hard otherwise, right?" He jiggles his hips against mine to make his point, our colliding groins only serving to make us both gasp.

I really want to get back to what we were doing… I take the initiative. My arms coil around his waist and tug him down on to me. He's not expecting it. I kiss him. It's not as hungry as it was before. I think he gets that. His hand fists into my hair, I'll need to restyle it. The other hand finds its way beneath me, sneaking under my boxers for my ass. I instinctively arc away and wind up ramming our bulges together.

Okay, maybe there's a little hunger. But I try to keep the kiss romantic and sweet. I want him to know I appreciate his words even if I don't believe them. I don't claim his mouth like he did mine, I let our tongues dance with one another. Whether he's getting my message or not is quickly becoming pointless. His flavor is reigniting my lust for him and I think he's feeling the same. He throbs between us.

His hand tightens on my rear, our hips pressed tightly. I groan softly against his lips. My hands find their way to the hem of his sweats and start pulling. He gets the message and we're apart again. This time he has to stand up to shuck off the clothing.

I love watching him undress. Every part of him is fun to watch. "You're drooling again." His voice snaps me back.

"Shut up!" This time I actually do pout. I scan his body with my eyes, taking in every inch of skin I've already touched a hundred times before.

I think he gets off on me watching, he's flexing a little. Not that I mind. "Your turn." Before I can protest, his fingers are curled into the hem of my own pants. He slides them off with ease and I'm left stark naked at his mercy.

I get myself resituated on the bed so that we're not hanging part way off. The entire time I'm trying to forget that I'm exposed. "Stop watching me!" I don't want him to stop.

"No." His tone is playfully defiant and he practically jumps back on top of me. His teeth find my neck quickly, more love bites following soon after. "I'm gonna fuck you, Ky." He whispers into my ear. The husky tone and sentiment make me writhe. He chuckles. Fucker.

He leans over to my nightstand and rummages through the drawer. Way in the back is the large bottle of lube we invested in. Our first time, dry, wasn't exactly that pleasant afterward… It didn't help Stan was drunk, but still.

He's so meticulous like this. He readjusts so he's between my legs, flips the cap and squirts some of the fluid on his hand. He doesn't bother with himself first, instead opting to- "Cold! Cold!" I never expect it even after all this time. I shiver as the lubricant is spread. He inserts one finger just to make me shiver again. "Asshole…" He knows how easy it is for him to rile me.

He just smirks and keeps at his work. The digit is gentle, pushing and pulling at my insides. I want his cock, but he's toying with me. The second finger makes me gasp and arch up, needy. "Dammit Stan… just fuck me already…" I'm certainly ready, physically and mentally.

"Someone's eager." He listens though and his fingers retract. Another squirt and I watch him rub the lubricant on his cock and then reach over to replace the bottle in my nightstand. "Ready?" He lifts my legs over his shoulders with ease.

I nod, biting my lip now that I can feel him pressed against me. I don't know if I'll ever get used to this feeling. He nods back. He rears up and pushes in, slowly at first, but I'm quickly hilted on him. He doesn't let my accompanying moan escape, covering my mouth with his before I can alert the entire house to our escapades.

His dick is bigger than his fingers, I feel full. I clench reactively and I'm greeted by a moan from him now! I've taken him enough that we know I don't need to get as acquainted to him as I used to. His hips retreat before shoving back against me. I'm thankful for him kissing me because he's figured out where my prostate is and has a habit of 'accidentally' ramming into it. My own length throbs when he does.

Another thrust, this time without hitting my sweet spot. His lips leave mine. He kisses over my cheek. Another thrust. My fingers curl into the bedspread. He nibbles along my jaw. Each thrust is coming faster now. I try to keep quiet.

I'm leaking like a broken faucet. He makes direct contact with my prostate and I have to bite my lip as the pleasure shoots right up my spine. He's at my neck again. He really likes it there. His teeth find my pulse and accompanied with his ramming my ass, I writhe beneath him.

I can't keep myself still now. It's impossible. I'm panting as he claims me. The only person to ever do so. I'm his and he knows it. He throbs inside me, a shimmer of sweat appearing on his skin now.

He's back at my lips, apparently starving as he ravishes me. I tighten around him as he rams in. The next thrust is to my sensitive gland. My knuckles are turning white against the covers. He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth and I exhale deeply.

His hips are getting more feverish, losing their mercy for my prostate and just having at it. I'm thankful to have him kissing me right now, even muffled I'm too damn loud. The familiar sensation is bubbling up in my stomach. I should warn him, but I think he knows.

One more pound against my gland and I'm undone. My hands come immediately to the back of his neck to keep him there. I let out my orgasmic moan into his mouth. The muscles in my body tighten and I hear him groan too. He buries himself inside me. I can feel the warmth of his cum. My own is splattering over the both of us.

Our orgasms ebb away and our lips detach, we're both panting. Neither of us wants to move from the other. I don't, anyway. "Fuck…" I try to catch my breath. It smells like sex in here and mom has the nose of a bloodhound. I need Febreeze.

He presses his forehead to mine, more apt at catching his breath given he's an athlete. "Yeah, we did." He chuckles at his own joke.

I can't help but move and he exhales, we're both sensitive after that, but he doesn't seem to want to pull out yet. We just remain, basking in each other's afterglow. This might be my favorite part. Our naked bodies huddled together, knowing how we're the only ones who make the other feel like this.

I kiss him, not inciting anything more, just a kiss. He's more than happy to accept. "See? You're hot as fuck." He kisses me this time. "Nobody can make me cum like you do."

I laugh at that. "Again, so romantic." His cock has deflated and left me by now. I can still feel him sloshing around inside me though.

"Just telling it like it is, Ky." He doesn't seem intent on getting off me. I don't think I really want him to get off me. I could easily fall asleep here.

I sigh contentedly when a thought occurs. "You realize this is exactly what I meant by 'you not helping', right?"

He nods excitedly, grinning. "Of course I do. That was the point." The last centimeters close between us, our bodies sandwiching my cum.

"We need a shower."

We're both thinking the same thing: take one together. It's only ethical. Don't want to waste water or anything, right?

* * *

Okay, so, to be fair, that shower may have taken a lot longer than it was supposed to. It's hard not to get carried away when we're with each other. This was my point though! This was why I was trying to keep away from him while I looked at schools. I mean, it's not like I didn't enjoy myself. Jesus fuck, did I. But college application season is right around the corner and we can't be putting it off!

Stan spent the night, of course. I warned him beforehand there would be no sex for the rest of the night. Yeah, fat lot of good that did. I wasn't woken up by my alarm, but rather him biting at my throat. It didn't help that morning wood is a thing either. Suffice it to say, we blew each other. It's much less mess. Plus, I was a little sore.

Thanks to the hickies I've received, I'm forced to wear a scarf to school, something I don't often do. I catch Wendy eyeing me as we look over college brochures in the library. My wearing a scarf is out of character, never mind keeping it on inside. "I know you're dying to ask. Just say it." I put down a brochure for Brown.

She blinks, not expecting that I could feel her eyes on me. "I don't want to say anything…" Come on, you're a better liar than that.

"Wendy, you've been staring at it all day."

"At what?"

"Wendy!"

"Okay, okay. Jeez. I've just never seen you wear a scarf inside, is all." She giggles at the implications behind it. "I imagine you and Stan had fun."

I can't fight the blush, even if I know that she's aware of our relationship. "Yeah…" I loosen the scarf and can't look her in the eyes when it falls away. There are a couple big purple splotches on either side of my neck, surrounded by smaller bite marks.

She stares at them. "Oh, wow…"

I replace the garment. "Stan gets… very friendly." I won't deny my love for it though. I think I have a thing for him marking me like this. It's fucking hot knowing I'm his this way. Not to mention getting them makes me want to fucking explode… shitshitshit, don't pop a boner, don't pop a boner. Grandma, grandma, grandma… there we go.

Wendy's just watching me, concern clear on her face. "I can see that." She takes up the school's old college catalog to return to her research. I think she wants to be disappointed in both of us, she can be kind of a prude like that. But she knows it makes us happy.

"So, have you given any more thought to Berkeley?" I think it's time for a subject change so we're not as focused on my neck.

She flips a page in the catalog. "I don't know. I mean, I could pretty much go anywhere and California is so blasé." She sounds arrogant, but she has every right to be. Wendy works her ass off to remain at the top of our class, as well as juggling her time on the volleyball team. I think she has a job somewhere, but I can't remember for sure.

My eyes fall to the Brown pamphlet and I pick it up. I've examined it so many times, I could practically recite every word without looking at it. "I can't wait to see New England. It'll be humid and expensive as hell, but it'll be worth it to get out of this hick town."

"Humid in the summer, freezing in the winter. From what I hear, it's really only the fall and spring that don't make you want to die." She giggles, finished with another page.

I nod. There's a picture of Brown's front gates adorning the pamphlet's cover. I want to walk through those myself. "They barely accept ten percent of applicants and most of them are more qualified than I am." Self-consciousness, where have you been?

Wendy looks at me incredulously. "Kyle, you can't be serious. There are two of the top three students in this school sitting at this table. We're only missing Butters." Oh, right, I always forget how smart Butters really is. All that studying his parents forced on him seemed to pay off. "I think your only problem would be extra-curriculars. Seeing as you're a founding member of our GSA, Brown will see you stand up for justice."

My eyebrow raises at her overly dramatic words. "You're kidding, right?"

"Only partially." She giggles. "I really do think you could make it to Brown. It wouldn't be the first time you overcame some impossible ordeal. You found the cure for AIDS, for pete's sake!"

I roll my eyes at that. "Cartman and I did. And it's not as if it's an easy cure. $180,000 in pure cash. As far as I know, Cartman, Magic Johnson and I are the only ones cured." Even so, it was a start.

She shrugs. "Still, it's something. Regardless of the facts, it was to illustrate a point. If you want something bad enough, it'll come to you in time." She smiles softly. "Just look at Stan."

I can't help but chuckle at that. "Ah yes, because I've got a few years of never telling Brown I want to attend it, then run away when I actually get up the nerve to do so."

"You're just being difficult."

I shrug, I can't disagree with that. "Yeah, pretty much."

It's her turn to roll her eyes at me. "The point is, you have the ability to go to Brown if it's what you want. Your odds aren't great, no. But no Ivy League has the greatest odds. Berkeley's only seventeen percent acceptance. And it's not even an Ivy school!"

She does have a point. "I guess you're right…" I still don't have the highest expectations for Brown, but I really want to go.

"The key is having back-ups." She sets the catalog down and digs through her purse. Three of her own pamphlets are in her hand. One for Berkeley, one for the University of Washington and the last is from Harvard. "UW is my back-up, Harvard's more of a pipedream."

I look over the schools and remember Wendy's own law aspirations. A civil attorney. She's always leaned more towards the 'social justice warrior' side of things. "If everything works out, we could all be studying on the East Coast together." The thought makes me chuckle.

"Oh, Stan's looking at schools there too?"

I rub the back of my neck in embarrassment. "Well, not exactly. _I'm_ looking at them for him. He hasn't given a second thought to where he wants to go yet." I really wish he would. I need to know what he wants to follow through with.

She giggles once more, taking up the catalog again. "That sounds like Stan." We're left in comfortable silence for a few seconds before she continues. "What were you looking at for him?"

"Something close to Brown… back when I thought I had a shot." The self-deprecation makes me smile, folding a corner of my brochure. "Boston College is only about an hour out of Providence. It has a football team he can try out for and a fine arts program. I figure he has a good chance with both."

"I forgot what a great artist he is… er… sorry." She must be remembering the art show.

I shake my head. "Don't worry about it. I'm apparently his model a lot." The sketchbooks filed away into my desk come to mind immediately.

Wendy flushes pink this time. "Well, I'm sure he'll have no problem getting a spot in their art school." Yeah, but what happens when he's accepted and I'm not?

Before I can voice my concerns, that voice that grates at my brain like nails on a chalkboard decides to make itself known. "Sup bitch, Jew?" Dammit, Cartman.

Wendy seems to ignore his nickname for her. "Eric." Her voice is curt and to the point. She hates him almost as much as I do. She's gripping the catalog to keep from hitting him.

I think he notices her tensing because he snickers. "I just wanted to come over and tell you I can't wait for your invitation to the Valentine's dance next Friday. I mean, since Stan's a fag and all." Oh shit, I'm crushing my brochure in my fist!

"As much as I relish the offer," Her voice is full of so much sarcasm, it's practically oozing out of her mouth, "I'm afraid I'll have to decline." I imagine she's picturing all the ways she'd decapitate him right now. I can sympathize.

He just shrugs at her response. "Whatever, bitch, 's your loss. Was gonna take you to Casa Bonita, but I guess I'll just have fun all by myself." Oh god, is that place still even open?

Wendy breathes in deeply, keeping herself calm. "How would that be different from any other night, for you?" I laugh at that. Wendy is savage when she needs to be.

"'Ey! For your information, just last week I got it in with that hot Canadian girl!"

"So did most of the football team." Stan and Craig are the only ones I'm certain didn't.

He glares at me, less power behind it than he thinks there is. "Shut up, Jew. Go ride Stan's dick or something. I'm trying to seduce Wendy."

Wendy pinches the bridge of her nose; apparently we both got that from Stan. "Eric, I'm not going out with you. Not even if you paid me my entire weight in gold." It would probably take more than that, even.

He scoffs. "Fine, I'll just have to take someone more deserving."

"If you say so, Eric. Now please leave us alone." Her tone is even, but the look in her eyes says she's ready to kill and he scurries away as soon as they fall on him. "Now that _that's_ over…"

"Wait… next week is Valentine's Day?" Fuck, how could I forget that? And why is Eric Cartman the one who reminded me?

Wendy's brow raises questioningly. "You forgot? There have been posters all over school about the dance." She thinks a moment. "They've had hearts plastered on the walls since mid-January!"

My head sinks to the table in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck…" The image of a disappointed Stan holding out a present for me when I've gotten him nothing appears in my head. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Well, you still have about a week. I'm sure you can figure something out. Stan's not exactly the hardest to please when it comes to this holiday." She should know.

Guilt wiggles its way into the mix of self-deprecating emotions now that she says that. "Sorry… I don't mean to bring this up to you…" I don't like thinking I stole Stan from her even if it's sort of what happened.

She just rolls her eyes, head shaking. "Kyle, I've told you numerous times. I don't blame you for what happened with Stan. Yes, I was a little disappointed at first, but you two make more sense than Stan and I ever did." I know she's just saying that.

"Well… what am I supposed to get him? We've been dating for a month…" I may as well get something out of my guilt.

"Like I said, Stan's not hard to please. He would be happy just curling up and watching a movie together." She's silent for a moment, contemplative. "Though, that was with me. I don't know how different he'll be with you."

I let my head bang against the desk a couple times. "I hate stuff like this…" Mainly because I've never had to celebrate this holiday before.

I hear the catalog close for good. "Just do something from the heart like all the clichés say! It usually works." I guess that's good advice…

"I don't know… we'll see, I guess." I can't look over colleges anymore and pick up my backpack to leave. "I'll see you later, Wendy." Then the thought occurs to me. "Sorry, again."

She giggles softly as I make way to leave. "Stop apologizing, Kyle." Yeah, if it were that easy.

* * *

The rest of the school day is full of my self-conscience kicking itself for not being able to think up the perfect gift for Stan. I thought about another piece of Lambtron memorabilia, but that seems like such a cop-out now. A new sketch book? No, he already got those for Christmas from his mom. Ugh, I hate this all. How am I supposed to express my undying love for him if I can't even figure out what to get him?

He can sense my anxiety as we walk through the door to my house. We would hang out at his house more, but he's not out to his parents yet. Granted, mine aren't fully aware of our relationship yet. "You alright? You've been on edge all day." Sure, now he can pick up on my subtle hints.

"Yeah… I'm fine." That's unconvincing as hell. "Did you know next week is Valentine's Day?" I blurt out before he can catch me in the lie.

He just blinks at me. "Uhh… yeah, didn't you?" So we know who the better boyfriend is.

I shake my head, wilting. "No, I completely forgot… Fucking Cartman had to remind me." That's probably worse than forgetting the holiday by itself.

"Oh, shit…" He wraps me in a hug instantly. Good, I need one… "You don't have to get me anything." I snuggle into him, knowing well that's the biggest Valentine's lie anyone ever tells.

I shake my head, chuckling sardonically. "Yeah, I do. How else will I be able to commercially prove you're my boyfriend?"

"You don't have to prove anything, Kyle. You could by me a shitty movie and I'd be happy just cuddling and watching it!" I have to laugh at that.

"Wendy said the same thing…" I wriggle out of his embrace as much as I don't want to.

He doesn't mention it. "Why do you feel so pressured to get me anything?"

"Because you're amazing! You tell me not to get you anything and all it makes me want is to buy you an entire fucking store full of chocolate and goodies!" Okay, maybe that's a little over-dramatic, but my point still stands.

He just chuckles, letting his hand find mine and tangle together. "Well, I do like chocolate…" He squeezes my hand. "But Kyle, really, you don't have to do anything. I already had a plan for Valentine's Day anyway!" He grins.

My brow furrows. "What's the plan…?" As if he'd actually tell me.

"I can't ruin the surprise, Ky. What would be the fun in that?" I could feel less guilty about not getting you anything yet.

My head lowers a little. "I just want to make it perfect for you…"

He shakes his head, free hand coming to rest on my cheek. It warms at his touch instantly. "Dude, every day with you has been perfect. I mean, I could be fully gay and it wouldn't matter because you're the greatest guy in the world!" He kisses my nose teasingly. "There's nothing you could do that would make us more perfect in my eyes."

I can't help but chuckle at his words. "You sound like a fucking Hallmark card." Though everything he said makes my heart skip a beat.

"I could probably get a job there. But they'd be terrible cards because they'd be all about you. Only gay Kyles could get them from their boyfriends." He's such a fucking sap sometimes, I love it. I love him.

"That wouldn't be so bad… for me at least…" I imagine they'd all be perfectly decorated with some sketch of his. "As long as I'm not naked on any of them!"

He snickers. "But that was gonna be my whole marketing strategy!" I can tell he's joking.

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"I'm _your_ ass."

"You fuck yourself?"

He laughs at that. "Touché, babe, touché." I blush. "Something wrong?"

I shake my head. "No, you've just never called me 'babe' before… I kinda liked it."

"Dually noted."

We're quiet for a moment, just enjoying the other's company before my earlier conversation with Cartman and Wendy returns to my head. "Oh, what about the dance on Friday?"

"I was planning on taking you, unless you don't want to go." I realize his hand is still at my cheek and lean into it.

"No, I'll go… but I don't like dancing…" I just want an excuse to be pressed up against my hot boyfriend.

He nods. "I get at least one dance."

I pale at the thought. "What if other people see us?!" I'm not ready to ruin Stan's reputation. "I got the shit kicked out of me just when guys _thought_ we were together, I don't need to know what'll happen now that we actually are!"

"Dude, weren't you the one who just said you wanted to buy me a candy store?" Well… yeah… "I want to dance with my boyfriend in front of everyone. If anyone gives us a problem, I'll beat the shit out of them myself!"

I shake my head, terrified. "No! I don't want you getting expelled because of me! It's bad enough I'd tarnish your reputation…"

He stares at me incredulously. "Kyle, is that really what you think?"

"Yes… You need to stay on the football team and get athletic scholarships and stuff… I don't want to take that away from you!" Especially with all the work I've been doing on finding us schools to go to.

He smiles, tugging me into him for another hug. I don't resist. "You wouldn't be taking anything from me. Yeah, the football team is a bunch of assholes sometimes, but they kinda banded together after those two beat you up. They didn't care to hear the details of what you and I did, but they don't think less of me for it." He's petting my hair and the unnecessary need to restyle it comes to mind. "Besides, Coach has promised to keep me on regardless."

He's really too good for me. "Yeah, but what happens when parents lose their shit over a 'homosexual' in the locker rooms or something?!" I know he's not sure of his sexuality, but still.

He shrugs. "Let 'em."

"How can you be so caviler about this?" It's your future for fuck's sake!

"Kyle, you're what's important to me. Not football, not drawing, you. Even before we got together, that's been true! You're what matters to me and if anyone has a problem with that, they can go fuck themselves!" He just has an answer for everything that makes my heart sore. "If you really don't want to dance with me, then fine, but don't ever think I'd pick football over you."

I don't know how he manages to make me feel precious and guilty at the same time, but he's good at it. "I don't know what to say…" Any convoluted reason I come up with for us not to be together, he seems to be able to counter, so it's really pointless for me to try coming up with more.

He pulls back only slightly. Enough for us to come face to face. "Say you'll go to the dance with me!"

I can't really say no. I don't want to say no. "I'll go, but you can't make me dance!"

"I take that as a challenge." His grin is smug before he leans in and plants a kiss on my lips.

The next voice I hear makes me jump immediately out of Stan's arms. "Oh, you two are just so cute!" It's my mother…

"Mom!" I try to put as much distance between Stan and I as possible. We weren't just kissing or anything.

She just laughs at my attempts to cover up our relationship. "Oh please, Bubeh, I've known about you two this whole time! Honestly, I'm disappointed you weren't together before last month! You have such a special bond most marriages don't even share!"

I'm left frozen in place before Stan's arm wraps around me and pulls me into his side. "What gave us away?" How is not freaked out by this?!

"Well, I've had my suspicions, but listening to all that just now confirmed everything." She acts like eavesdropping is totally normal and not an invasion of privacy.

I blanch. "Mom, you were listening to us?!" This is almost as bad as learning she won twenty bucks off my sexuality.

"Kyle, you decided to have this conversation in the living room, you weren't exactly being discrete." Well, she's not wrong.

I just glare off into space at my own stupidity. "Let me guess, you and dad made another bet about Stan and I?" Stan chuckles.

My mom shakes her head. "No, not this time. Your father thought you and Eric Cartman would end up together the way you two fight and carry on." That thought makes me want to vomit.

"Well, Mrs. Broflovski, do I have your permission to keep dating your son?" Stan, stop acting like we're getting engaged!

She nods. "Of course, Stanley, you've always had my permission!" I really just want to shrivel up and die right now. "I take it you'll be staying for dinner, again?"

"If you'll have me!" He snickers at me and I return a death glare. He's unphased.

She smiles at him. "Good, I'll get the roast into the oven, then!" And she disappears into the kitchen, a small clattering of pots and pans to follow.

"You're mom ships us really hard." He's so smug.

My face is beet red. "Shut up…"

* * *

 **KeruKeru: I hope you all liked seeing them be all cute and adorable together after so long! I know I enjoyed writing it! Thanks to all people who reviewed the last chapter: MelancholyDusk, spiceypepper, tvwords97, blueneko8 and madhealingbaker! You guys are awesome!**


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